


Legend's Apprentice

by Hephastia



Series: Alex Barnes [1]
Category: DC - Fandom, Marvel
Genre: F/M, Fairly canon compliant-- Civil War (movie), High School, Original Female Character - Freeform, Systema, chemical accidents, flannel hugs, uncle Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-06-27 01:12:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 116,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19780189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hephastia/pseuds/Hephastia
Summary: The best Marvel/DC fanfic you're not reading. 😁Alixzandrya Barnes is your average high schooler, still trying to fit in at a new(ish) school, worried about college, trying to find her place in the world. And she's just met her black sheep uncle.This is set in the same universe as The Armorer, Duty, Star Dust, and Poppies. Marvel and DC characters are featured in the story. Alex is an original character. This work was originally published on Wattpad 2016-17.





	1. Relations

My hands are getting all sweaty and I'm nervous enough to jump out of my skin. Except that then I'd be walking up to a house just in a muscle-covered skeleton, which would be ick. Best to keep the skin on. What the hell, brain??? Why do you do this to me?? And for the record, I've never actually jumped out of my skin. Not once.

The house is cute. It's a Craftsman, with the inviting front porch boasting pots of pansies and a swing. Somebody loves flowers; there's barely any grass in the front yard. It looks like a fairy-tale house. The gate opens easily and there's a nice flagstone path up to the house. It's perfect, not misaligned, which, I've come to find, is not that easy to maintain. But maybe it's intimidated by the inhabitants of the house, too.

It wasn't that easy to find the address, but with patience, perseverance, and rather a lot of luck, I traced the owners of a holding company. And here I am.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. If my hands get any more nervous, they're going to drip. I should have hydrated before coming here. Maybe I should have waited until it got cold. No, then my hands would be cold and clammy and that would be so uncool. Crap. No, it would be... repellent.

Come on, we can do this. Why does it feel like a twenty, twenty-five foot long path is more like a mile long? But wait. All too soon, I'm at the stone steps. My soggy hands start to shake. Maybe nobody's home. For the life of me, I can't decide whether that would be good or bad. If nobody's home, I'd have to come back and do this again. Ok, let's hope somebody's home. I don't think I can do this again.

God, my parents are going to be so pissed if they find out I'm here. And they'll probably find out when the cops call them to tell them I expired from fright. This is not what they had in mind when they agreed to let me come to school here in New York. I'm supposed to be head-down in my studies at Midtown Science and Technology High School. They sent me here because my eight-grade aptitude tests showed a really strong aptitude for science and engineering. The guidance counselor explained my grades away by saying I wasn't being sufficiently challenged, so... here I am. I didn't really like the robotics class I took last semester, but the intro to organic chemistry is so cool. I can just see the electrons floating around, making all these bonds. You know, in my imagination.

I scrub my palms dry on my jeans and press the doorbell before a) I chicken out, or b) my hands start to sweat again and I manage to electrocute myself. After about four seconds, I decide nobody's home and I start to back away, but then I hear movement and force myself to stand still. Cue the hands.

The heavy door opens and a woman looks through the screen door at me. Shit. You think you're ready, but I'm so not. Preparation is no substitute for experience, and I am not prepared to come face to face with Emma Harrington. Harrington-Rogers-Barnes? I don't know.

"Can I help you?" She has a pleasant voice, but she looks sharper than anybody I've ever met. I swallow.

"I-i-is Mr Barnes home?" I ask. Damn the stutter. I worked really hard to get rid of it, and it doesn't seem like I was as successful as I thought.

"Not yet," she says, looking at me like I'm a specimen. Yep, I should definitely have hydrated beforehand. I scrub my hands again but can't control the shaking. "And who are you, dear?"

"A-a-alixzandrya B-b-barnes," I manage to choke out. "I-if Mr James Buchanan Barnes lives here, I'm his g-g-reat-great niece."

She looks fascinated. I don't know if that's good or bad.

"Bucky does live here," she affirms. She opens the screen door. "I'm his wife, Emma Harrington-Barnes. Come on in. He should be home soon." I try not to shake too obviously.

She leads me back to the kitchen. It's comfortable. She has soapstone counters in a reassuring creamy white, the paint is a bluish periwinkle, there's stainless appliances, blinds over the window, a little dog door in the door to the backyard. The cabinets match the counters, and the upper ones have glass doors. There's a round pedestal table with four comfortable chairs, and she sits me down before rummaging in the refrigerator. She moves around and turns back with glasses and a pitcher of what turns out to be a refreshing limeade, then hits the cookie jar for fluffy sugar cookies. They're delicious.

I feel the need to prove I'm who I say so, so I dig the file out of my messenger bag. I have my birth certificate, photocopies of my parents' marriage license, my dad's birth certificate, my grandparents' marriage license, my grandpa's birth certificate, and his parents' marriage license. There are the copies of the newspaper clippings, an obituary for George, who was killed in a training accident after Korea, one for Rebecca, who stroked out of this world at 92, and William's, which is just a death notice. He'd been killed in a car accident on the way back from his mistress, and his wife had been too furious to cooperate with an obituary. And the telegram they'd sent Bucky's mom. And the photograph. I'd nicked that, it had been at the very bottom of the pile. I hand it all to Ms Harrington-Barnes.

"What's all this?" she starts to leaf through the documents.

"I'm sure Mr Barnes has a lot of people who think they're related," I say. "I didn't think he should have to take my word for it, although most of the stuff are copies that I made. I couldn't bring the originals."

"My word." She's looking at the photo. It's dogeared and there's a crease through the emulsion, but it's the only photo we have that includes my great-great uncle. It shows all four siblings--James, Rebecca, George, and William. She smiles, probably at her husband's image, then hands it back to me. She's still smiling. "Genes are funny things, aren't they? You have his eyes, the same hair." My hand goes up to my face. That must look stupid. I yank my hand down.

"Your uncle will be home soon," she said placidly. "Why don't you tell me about yourself?" She patted my hand and frowned. "Your poor hands are like ice. Do you have a circulation problem or are you just nervous?" It doesn't sound rude, she sounds actually just curious and concerned.

"Nerves," I mumble. "My parents are going to kill me if they find out I've come here." Her smile twisted.

"They think he's a psycho killer?" she said wryly, and I nod.

"Kinda," I admitted.

"He's actually very nice," she says confidingly. "He hasn't killed anybody for years."

I think that she's teasing me. "Good to know," I acknowledge. We're interrupted by the kitchen door opening and these two massive dogs amble into the room. And I mean MASSIVE. I have to look up at them from where I sit. They seem very interested in me. The brown one snuffles me. I sit, frozen.

"This is Torburn and Sigurd," Ms Harrington-Barnes says. "Boys, this is Bucky's niece, Alexandra." Then she looks at the birth certificate on the top of the pile and frowns.

"Call me Alex," I say. "I'm going to go to court when I turn 18, get the spelling of my name normalized." She grins. "I don't know what they were thinking," I mutter. "It confuses people and it makes me look illiterate, like I'm the one who can't spell."

The big gray dog lies down and puts his head on my lap. It's heavy. Like, really heavy. He looks up at me with big puppy eyes and I tentatively start to pet. He makes a mumbly sound. Ms Harrington-Barnes laughs. It's a hearty sound.

"He'd like you to scratch behind his ears," she said. "Do that, and you'll have a friend forever."

I push my fingers into his thick fur, softer than any other dog I've ever petted. "Are they really aliens?"

"They're from Asgard, yes," she says, but the correction isn't snappish, it's more like she's just clarifying.

"What's it like?" I ask. "I've never met anybody who's visited another planet before."

"It's nice," she said after a moment of thinking. "The architecture's quite grand, everybody sounds British and dress like they're in a period movie. Food's good. Very patriarchical society." She pulls a face and the corners of my mouth curve up. "The dogs are their equivalent of our dogs, just huger and smarter, with a lot longer lifespan."

"How long will they live?" I ask, getting the other hand to work on the other ear, and Sigurd sighed in what I chose to think was pleasure.

"About 2500 years," she said. I gaped at her, and she smiled. "It's about half as long as Asgardian people live," getting up to put food in bowls. She looks a little sad. "They'll outlive us all, by a good amount. Torburn is still very young, I got him when he was actually a puppy. I just hope they remember me, down the line." The brown one--Torburn--woofed reproachfully at her, and she smiled and patted his enormous head.

"Wow," I say, unable to think of anything intelligent to say. But I'm saved from babbling by the sound of the front door opening. And the ease I've started to feel with Ms Harrington-Barnes evaporates. Keys are tossed onto the little table in the entryway and light footsteps come down the hall.

"Hey, doll," the man says, pulling his wife into a clinch and giving her a sound kiss. That's nice. Our society always seems to reserve sex for the young and attractive, so it's nice to see more mature people keeping the spice going. Heartening. After all, we're all going to be old some day. Hopefully. You can tell from the kiss that they're hot for each other. She gives him a lighter kiss, and runs her fingers through his hair, which is dark, but has liberal white through it. She still has the long silver hair that's been her hallmark since that famous Comic Con appearance.

"Angel," she coos. "We have a visitor."

He starts to laugh; it's vibrant, like he does it a lot. "Pete?" He starts to turn.

"No, not Peter," she says, taking his metal hand. OMG, thatissofreakingcool. "This is your niece, Alixzandrya Barnes."

At that, Mr Barnes whips around and stares at me. He's still alert and tall and strong and looks like he could snap me in two with either hand. His eyes are pretty piercing. He's got a lot of crowsfeet, which I hope are from laughing.

"H-hi," I say, breaking the silence, prying a hand off the dog to do a stupid little wave.

His wife hands him the file, which he sifts through rapidly, peering at me periodically. She nudges him to the table, to the chair she was sitting on. Torburn butts his shoulder solidly for attention, and my uncle scratches behind his ear absently. He gets to the obituaries and reads them in silence, his lips turning down. He's still handsome, even after all he's been through. He touches the images in the photo gently.

"Huh." He looked at the pile of paper, then up at his wife, scratching the dog's ear. Then there's the sound of the dog flap being activated and a couple of Scotties and a Corgi wander in. Torburn's ears prick up and he ambles over to them, touching their heads gently with his nose and sort of herding them over to a smaller set of bowls. Mrs Harrington-Barnes laughed and turned to put out food for them. "So you're... George's great granddaughter?"

I nodded. He leaned back in the chair, still looking at me. "Huh. You look too cute to be descended from Georgie." His tone was affectionate, though.

My great grandpa had been the least attractive in that generation of siblings, but that's not to say he was ugly or plain, he was just less of a babe than his two brothers. And his sister had been flat out beautiful. "Well, there have been some different genes introduced over the generations," I offer, and he laughs.

"I'm kind of surprised," he admits after a moment. "I thought the family was all gone."

"Not quite," I said. " Rebecca had two daughters, one of them couldn't have kids and the other had a daughter, she had a daughter, but the daughter didn't have any kids. I don't have any cousins. William had a daughter, but she was killed in Vietnam. She was a nurse. And George had one son just before he died, who had a son, my dad. I have a brother." I roll my eyes, and he laughs. "My little brother, he's two years younger than me. His name is Jaimez."

He smirks at me. "Did they also spell that one weird?" I nod. "Kids these days."

His wife grins at him. "Aw, do you need your walker?" she said, laughter in her voice. "Cranky old guy," she mock-whispers to me, her fingers stroking his hair, and I smile.

"I need a cookie. Cookies," he said. Then he bursts into laughter, real belly laughs. "Stark's new repulsors malfunctioned in the lab today. He was pissed. Took out a whole tableful of his junk. " He glanced at me and threw in a wink. "Laughing at Stark's missteps always gives me an appetite. I use a lot of calories making fun of him," he confided. My mouth hung open. There was some not-meshing going on in my head; Tony Stark is one of the most brilliant engineers ever. How could he miscalculate something as easy as thrust?

"Because he's a little too intuitive," Mrs Harrington-Barnes said as she brought over more cookies, setting the plate down between us and filling glasses. "He doesn't bother to calculate much anymore." I flushed. My mouth was acting independently again.

"Isn't that..." I groped for the right word.

"Dangerous?" she said, grinning. "Yes."

"I was going to say stupid," I muttered, my face still on fire. But at least I wasn't so nervous anymore. Mr Barnes laughed again.

"So tell us about yourself," Mrs Harrington-Barnes said, sitting down and taking a cookie for herself.

"Um... well, I'm sixteen, I go to school at Midtown."

"Midtown?" her eyebrows shoot up. "That's a good school."

I nod. "That's why I was sent here." Mr Barnes frowns.

"You were sent here? Don't your parents live here?"

"No," I shake my head. "They live in Pennsylvania. Dimock. But they got it into their heads that I wasn't challenged enough in school, so they sent me down here."

She looks thoughtful, but he sounds a little worried. "Where are you living?"

"The school found a host family for me."

"Are they nice?"

"Yeah. She's a sound engineer at some studio, he's a lawyer." I didn't see them much, but they weren't unkind. Just distracted, busy.

He looks at me, his gaze penetrating. "And what do your parents think about you coming here?"

The cookie I was nibbling tasted like ash suddenly. "They, uh... they don't know I'm here, actually." He smirked a little.

"Let me guess. I'm the family black sheep."

"With a cool metal arm," I blurt out, and he chuckles.

"Well, I can see that," he says, lapsing into a bit of a brood.

"You were kind of the family tragic hero for a long time," I say, trying to boost his spirits. He snorts.

"Then I guess things changed when I was accused of bombing the UN," he says dryly, and I nod. The few family mementos we had from that generation were quietly put away and mom and dad stopped really talking about the family. "So what changed your mind?" he asks directly.

"Well, you joined the Avengers, " I said softly, crumbling the cookie. "So you couldn't have been all evil like the press said. Then there was the book." I shudder. His cynical grin softens and he pats my hand. The metal is warm, which surprises me. Then he takes the plate with the cookie crumbs and the bit of cookie that I haven't destroyed yet, popping it into his mouth, then moistening his fingertip and picking up the crumbs.

"I'm surprised your folks let you read it." There's no judgment in his voice.

"I snuck it, once it came out in paperback," I admit. "Bought a copy from one of the kids at school, hid it behind some stuffed animals."

"What did you think?" His gaze is assessing, then he reaches over for the last cookie.

"That the world is a lot wilder than I thought," I say hesitantly. "And that we didn't actually learn much in history class." His wife laughs.

"Honey, all the best history is edited out of history classes," she says. "God forbid there's anything controversial, the parents would have cows. It's so whitewashed that it's hard to align the reality, which is messy and chock-full of questionable activities and decisions, with what you see in the textbooks. It's too bad. People who say they don't like history most likely never got any of the good stuff." She sobers and strokes her husband's arm. "There's a lot that we can learn, and a lot that should never happen again. But we don't seem to learn." His hand covers hers.

"James was pretty explicit in what he said," he says simply. "That's a lot for anybody to take in, let alone a kid."

"My mom thought I had the flu." I blink back some tears. It's still so upsetting to think about, a few years after I read it. I just can't reconcile the account with the man sitting across the table from me. "It made me sick. I still don't understand how people can do something like that to another human being."

His expression softens into sympathy. "The takeaway should be more that true believers for a cause don't have limits. They'll do what's necessary for their cause. And HYDRA was disciplined and focused. That's the cautionary part of the story. The rest...well, you shouldn't have to know that."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, Colin threw up during the interview," Ms Harrington-Barnes said, not quite cheerfully, but encouragingly. Oddly, it does make me feel better.

The topic gets more general as they ask me questions about myself, what classes I'm taking, what I like to do. They laugh when I say that I like superhero movies. "That might be your reality, allowing for Hollywood interpretation," I feel compelled to say, "but for me, it's just escapism."

"Huh." Bucky eyes me, surprised, I think. "So you don't want to be a hero?"

I snort. That might be a family trait. "Are you kidding? There's nobody less heroic than me."

"But you came here to meet your uncle, despite being scared," Ms Harrington-Barnes says speculatively.

"Well, it's not like I thought he'd kill me or anything," I look at her, puzzled. "It's just that you're living legends. The regular superheroing stuff, then there were the alien invasions. It's just.... really, really intimidating. And I've never just up and tracked down a family member before. Mom has some family, but they're back in Great Britain, we don't see them a lot, and besides, that's a small family too."

He looks enlightened. "You thought I'd think you were running a con or something." I nod.

"You have to have people who want to claim that they're related," I say diffidently.

Another snort. "Kid, oddly enough, the whole assassin thing seems to keep them at bay. Besides, you look a lot like my sister. Becky was a real looker too. Stevie had a huge crush on her for awhile." I'm startled to realize he's talking about Captain America. The original. His wife laughs.

"She has your eyes," she says, and he looks.

"I guess so," he says, sounding surprised. "I did not expect that." Then he switches topics. "Can you stay for dinner?"

"Yeah," I say.

"Do you need to call anybody at your host family?" his wife asks, and I shake my head.

"No, it's pretty casual."

He frowns, then goes to the fridge and starts pulling stuff out. "I don't know if I like the thought of that. They're responsible for you, but they don't seem to be very...what's the word? Hands-on," he says, staring at the ceiling, then over at me.

"Well, I'm not a troublemaker," I feel compelled to point out.

"But this is a big city. There's a criminal element, and you're a young lady." He slits his eyes. "Are you dating? Boys don't seem respectful these days."

"Uh--" before I can say that I'm not really popular enough to date, the front door bangs open, and I swivel around in relief. Only to cringe. It's the actual Tony Stark, strolling around like he owns the place. Ms Harrington-Barnes just shakes her head and slips out the back door.

"So what's for dinner?" he says breezily, then he sees me. "And who is this?" he quirks an eyebrow. "Can't be a daughter..." he looks at Mr Barnes speculatively, and he bristles.

"This is my niece," he says, kind of easing between us.

Mr Stark pokes his head around him and sizes me up. "Nope."

"There's a great in there somewhere," Mr Barnes concedes. "She's my brother George's great granddaughter."

"I have a hard time imagining you with brothers," Mr Stark says. "I tend to think of you as just sort of...springing forth. Or maybe arising by budding." I roll my eyes. He smirks. "There's a distinct family resemblance there." He surveys the kitchen. "Are there any more cookies?"

My uncle smiles sweetly. "I ate the last one," he said with immense satisfaction, and Mr Stark actually started to sulk.

She comes back inside. "I lit the grill, angel," she reports to her husband. "You staying for dinner, Tony?"

"Well, you're out of cookies, so yeah," he says.

"So tonight there are some ground rules," she says firmly. "We just met Alex today, and you need to rein yourself in a little. I don't want her to get scared off."

His eyes widen. "Me?" He acts shocked. "Have you forgotten? I'm very charming." He picks up the file and leafs through it, shooting me quick speculative glances. When he finds the photo, he holds it up and squints between it and me. "I'll be damned--"

"Possibly," my uncle mutters.

Mr Stark ignores him. "She looks like the hottie in the picture."

"She does have Bucky's eyes," Ms Harrington-Barnes beams as she twits him. "Similar hair, too, although hers isn't slicked back, but otherwise she resembles her aunt more, don't you think?"

There's an eyeroll so massive I can hear his eyes rotating in their sockets. "Come on, kid," my uncle says, hooking an arm around my neck and handing me a platter of steaks to carry. "You can help me outside." He snickers at Mr Stark. Out at the grill, he establishes my preference for medium-rare, then he asks questions about my family. It's pretty boring and basic, but he seems glad to hear about what's left of his family. I carry in the plates--all of us apparently have a liking for steaks on the moo side of done--while he flicks veggies on the grill and tells me he'll be in shortly. When I set the last plate down, Mr Stark bombards me with questions about school, lighting up when I tell him I took the intro to robotics class.

"I thought it was pretty boring, actually," I have to say. "Sorry," I add at his crushed look. He rallies fast.

"That's probably because you were doing boring stuff," he says confidently. "You should come up to the tower and see real engineering in progress."

"I don't think that would be a good idea," my uncle says sternly. "You took out half your lab today because you were careless." He puts his arm around me protectively. I blink. "She's not enhanced. I don't want you breaking her."

"I have interns around, it's not like I go through them by the gross," Mr Stark say indignantly, and they began to bicker amicably. Ms Harrington-Barnes puts down a pasta salad and nudges everybody toward the table. Everything is really delicious, and I relax a little more. I haven't had a family meal since I went home for Christmas. That was a lot like this, come to think of it, with my dad and brother picking at each other too. At the end, we have some homemade ice cream.

"So what are you doing for summer vacation?" Mr Stark asks me abruptly.

"Um, just going home, I think," I say. "There's nothing I want to take in summer school. And my parents want me to come back."

"Where's home?"

"Dimock. In Pennsylvania."

"That's where they're still having trouble from fracking fluid in the water, isn't it?" I nod. "Probably healthier for you to be here, odd as that may sound. Do you know any self-defense?" he asks in a quick, weird topic jump.

"Some basics," I say cautiously.

"So you should spend some time here this summer. You could spend some time with some of the engineers, they're working on water filtration for problems like they have in Dimock. And Barnes could teach you self-defense. No offense, but you're pretty and timid. You're going to attract predators." I flinch.

"Don't you fight with your brother?" my uncle asks, and I shake my head.

"We're not supposed to hit."

He guffaws. "Now I know times have changed. But as much as I hate to agree with Tony, he's got a point. You should know how to protect yourself. Tell you what. Come to the tower tomorrow after school and I'll show you a few things. But you're not as much of a pushover as Stark thinks," he says. Mr Stark gives him a "what" face. "You came here by yourself, no introduction. It's pretty brave of you, given my reputation." Mr Stark is forced to nod.

"I should get going," I say. "I've got homework."

"What is wrong with kids these days?" Mr Stark asks the ceiling. "This obsession with homework."

"We're not all geniuses," I say astringently. "Some of us have to work at it."

"Nothing wrong with a good work ethic," my uncle says complacently. But he can afford to be; family legend says he was a great student, very interested in science.

"Can I help clean up?" I ask his wife, who smiles.

"No, this won't take five minutes."

"Well, thanks for the dinner, Ms Harrington-Barnes," I say, picking up my messenger bag.

Mr Stark bursts into laughter. My uncle glares at him. "I'm your Aunt Emma," she says. "You have lovely manners." And she too glares at Mr Stark. My uncle walks me to the door, Mr Stark trailing along behind.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then," he says in a tone that brooks no argument.

"Ok," I say meekly.

"I can give you a ride home," Mr Stark says briskly, but I'm uncertain. Granted, he's famous and an Avenger, but he's still not really known to me. My uncle pats my shoulder approvingly.

"It's good to avoid going places with strange men, and Stark is strange, that's no lie," he says and Mr Stark scowls, "but it's safe enough to have him drive you home. He's old enough to be your grandpa." I smirk slightly at Mr Stark's outraged look.

I raise up on tiptoe and give my uncle a peck on the cheek. "Thanks, Uncle Bucky," I say, feeling like I'm presuming a little. "See you tomorrow." He grins at me and steps back. Mr Stark grabs the back of my neck and steers me down the path to the gate. There's the newest Audi R8 right in front. He starts telling me about internships at Stark Tech and doesn't stop selling it until we get to the home of my host family.

"Great!" he says enthusiastically. "I'll have an application for you when you come by tomorrow!" And he roars off without waiting for an answer. Urg. I don't think I want to be an engineer. Maybe Aunt Emma has some tips on dealing with Mr Stark that don't include running for cover. I let myself in, spending more time wondering what my uncle is going to teach me tomorrow than worrying about the upcoming calculus test.


	2. Establishment

At school, I had a calculus test and a pop quiz in chemistry, which didn't go too badly, all things considered. This was only my third semester in the school, and I'd had to learn a lot of study habits since my old school wasn't this tough. The first skill had been to keep up with the homework and to do a little extra. Fortunately there were online resources where you could get extra problems to solve. That really helped me in calculus. At lunch we had a French club meeting, and there was an informational meeting after class for students who were interested in the "Lifetime Sports" class next year. For some reason it wasn't very popular, most kids chose regular gym for their two semesters of required gym classes. But this sounded a lot more interesting. The main problem was cost; the fee was double regular gym.

As I walked rather nervously to Avengers Tower, I thought about the summer. If I went home, I could wait tables at my parent's restaurant and save my tips. If I stayed here, we'd still have to pay my room and board at my host family, but they'd already offered to let me stay there over the summer if I wanted, so that wouldn't be a problem. I could probably get a job; I'd need to find one that would let me earn enough to cover my expenses though. I needed to figure things out fast, though. Spring semester was over in five weeks.

I put that aside when I pushed the door open and entered the spacious lobby. It was a beautiful building. Mr Stark's architect probably earned a lot of awards for it. I approached the security desk apprehensively and gave my name. The guard looked at the computer screen, raised his eyebrows, but didn't say anything before picking up the phone. While he was talking, I felt a nudge between my shoulder blades and turned to find Sigurd looking at me and wagging his tail. I was pleased to see him and petted him while I waited for the guard to finish.

"Mr Barnes will be here shortly," he said, looking at me curiously. I thanked him and scratched behind Sigurd's ears, then kissed the soft fur on the top of his head.

"Alex," I heard, and looked up to see my uncle approaching. He ruffled Sigurd's fur. "Barney, this is my great-great niece," he said to the guard, who smiled at me. He deftly relieved me of my messenger bag and slung his metal arm around my shoulders, guiding me to the elevator bank that was off by itself. He had to use a key card to summon one, and we went downstairs while he asked me about my day, wanting to know how I did on the test. I remembered from the book and from family stories that he'd done very well in school too.

When we got to the appropriate subbasement level, he showed me around. This was the physical conditioning space; there were beyond top-of-the-line stationary bikes, treadmills, ellipticals, and rowing machines on one cluster in the vast space, a huge array of free weights racked along another wall. There was a boxing ring, heavy bags and speed bags in another corner, and the rest was just open space, but the entire floor was covered with a slightly spongy, rubberized coating. He set my bag by the wall and directed me into the open area. He picked up a blocker with a glove on its back and had me hit it. I gave it a good, solid hit with my fist, but I didn't even succeed in rocking him back. He had me do it some more, working in my left side too, and I relaxed and started to have some fun with it. He made little corrections as I went along, then finally stopped and talked about it. He seemed pleased that I was enjoying it. Then there was a "woof!" and when Uncle Bucky's eyes lit up, I figured Aunt Emma had arrived.

Sure enough, he put his hand on my shoulder and turned me around. "Hi, Alex," she said brightly, smoothing my hair. "I brought some cookies from home, if you're interested. Up in my office; I saw Tony wandering around and this is the best chance to avoid him for a bit." She caught my look and smiled. "Tony's just nosy, and we want some quality time with you by ourselves." Ooookay.

I picked up my bag and followed them to the elevators. It was pretty crowded with the two big dogs plus us. Aunt Emma's spacious office was bright and had a great view of the city. It was also unexpectedly cozy, with all sorts of different textures in the upholstery and rugs on the polished concrete floor. She settled us on one of the two sofas and brought over a TARDIS cookie jar and a tray with glasses of milk. Ooh, more sugar cookies. The edges were rolled in purple sugar. She also asked about the calc test. It was like adding two homework monitors. Then she asked more about my family.

"My parents have a restaurant, it's casual, I'd say the next level above a diner. It's mostly classic American, but my mom has added some British dishes too. They have really good fish and chips, and there's also stuff like toad in the hole. My brother and I work there on weekends to help out."

"I noticed you carried all four plates with the steaks last night," Bucky said, smiling.

"Your mother is British? How did she and your dad meet?" Emma asked.

"They met at Penn State. She was over here on an exchange. My dad does accounting, including the restaurant, and on the side he has a furniture-building business. Mom manages the restaurant. She doesn't cook much, herself." I shudder. "Usually she brings home dinner, but she does do breakfast really well. My brother is in eighth grade. He likes football, and he's the terror of the Pop Warner teams in the area. The high school coach has already talked to the parentals about him trying out this summer. He could be a really good receiver," I said thoughtfully.

"What kind of furniture does your dad make?" Bucky asked.

"Chairs, mostly, Windsors sell the best. But he made Adirondack chairs for the porch last year and when I was little, he made me a bed." A grin tips up the corners of my mouth. "Four poster canopy. He turned the posts on a lathe, and my mom made a sheer canopy and curtains that slide on the rails. It's totally the fairy tale princess experience." Emma grinned.

"And what do you like to do?" Bucky asked, selecting another cookie.

"When I'm not studying," I said, earning a grin from Emma, "I used to help my dad in the shop. I cut and foursquared the lumber for his projects and did the maintenance on the table saw and band saw. I also took dance lessons and quilted. Up here, I do some tutoring."

"What kind of dance did you do?" Emma asked.

"Ballet, mostly, although my old teacher also made us do tap."

"Why'd you quit?" Mr Stark said from the doorway. Emma sighed and leaned back.

"Well, the studios are expensive down here. And it's not just the lessons, I had a growth spurt a while ago and I'd have to get new leotards and shoes." I felt a little defensive. "It costs a lot to send me to school here, and I'd rather go to Midtown than go back and have dance. And my brother deserves to be able to do his thing too, and football's not cheap either." I shook my head. "It's not such a big deal, because I don't have the right body for ballet. It was just for kicks."

"What do you mean, you don't have the right body?" Uncle Bucky asked in bewilderment.

"My legs and neck aren't really long enough, I don't have the best feet, my head is too big, and I'm too chesty," I explain.

"You're kidding," he said, and I shook my head. "What do you mean, you don't have the best feet?" He looked down at them. "You have two, they look...like feet."

I grin. "But the insteps aren't very high. High insteps create the best-looking arch en pointe." My uncle looks kind of appalled.

My aunt changes the subject. "So what are you going to do for the summer?"

"Depends. My host family said I could stay over the break even if I'm not in school, but I'd have to find a job that will pay enough. If not, I'll go back to Dimock and work in the restaurant." I flushed. "My parents want me to enter the quilt I made them last year in the regional fair."

"They still have those?" Mr Stark snagged another cookie. "I thought those were only in old musicals."

"Oh, yeah," I said. "There's the agricultural and farm animal competitions, but also you can enter pies and jams and all sorts of food for ribbons, and stuff like quilts and knitted garments too. There are a lot of people who raise alpacas or sheep, spin their wool, and knit it up."

"Sounds...quaint," he said snarkily.

"Have you been?" I said; he put my back up. He shook his head. "Then don't knock it til you've tried it. The food is great. They have the best funnel cakes."

"I love funnel cakes," my aunt said covetously. "Do the spinners sell their yarn to knitters?" she asked me.

"Some of them. It's beautiful, but I just don't have the knack. My stitches just keep getting tighter the farther I go along."

"What would you do if you found a job in the city?" Mr Stark asked.

"Well, work," I said, like he was stupid. He was, kinda. "Spend a little more time at the museums, the library. Do some touristy things. I haven't been to the Statue of Liberty yet."

"How long have you been going to that school?" he asked abruptly.

"This is my third semester."

"Don't you have any friends?" I glared at him. It was kind of a sore spot for me that I hadn't made any friends beyond study partners, but I didn't have a lot of time. I had to study a lot and I tutored ten hours a week to make my spending money. And the school was more cliquish than I'd expected. It wasn't easy to insert yourself into the social hierarchy.

"I can't possible see how that's any of your business," I said coldly. Aunt Emma was frowning.

"Stark, lay off." Uncle Bucky's voice was cold and flat.

"Fine. You might want to check the guidance counselor's office," he said to me. "I have some poky little jobs listed. Lab assistants, mainly." He grabbed three more cookies and took off. I didn't miss the look my aunt and uncle exchanged. Uncle Bucky scheduled me to come in two days later for another lesson, and both humans and both dogs escorted me down to the lobby. Aside from Mr Stark, it was a fun time, and the cheek kisses didn't feel so awkward this time.

The next day I had a tutoring session with my least favorite student. He's a ten year old, goes to a really expensive school, his family's in real estate. I think he's got a learning disability, but his parents refuse to consider it, and the kid is a total asshole. Which is rude to say of such a young kid, but he is. The sole reason that I keep up with it is because they pay really well. But this time I managed to coax a glimmer of interest out of him in his world history work. Remembering what Aunt Emma said about history being too sanitized to be interesting, I salt the information on the Roman empire with some social stuff (not the salacious stuff) and some detail about the legendary legions, and he perked up enough that we actually got through it. But there's nothing that can make him happy about choosing his science fair project, and we're getting down to the wire. He finally, and with great reluctance, agreed to a project testing the response of brine shrimp to different levels of salinity in their water. I wrote out a list of the equipment the kid was going to need and gave it to the nanny. I felt sorry for her. She has to deal with this little monster more than I do. I also wrote very precise instructions for how this was going to work and emailed it to the parents and the nanny, because they're the ones who are going to have to get the kid to do it. Or, more likely, the nanny will have to set it up. I fled as soon as the clock ticked over. That night I looked over the printouts from the guidance counselor. She found quite a few jobs that will pay me enough to help with my room and board and provide pocket money. The best paying ones are, unfortunately, at Stark Tech. My parents won't be happy that I don't want to come home for the summer.

That night I put in a phone call. J answers and we had a 'friendly' sibling talk until my mom came to the phone. She was glad to hear about the A on my calc test and the A+ on the chemistry quiz, but not thrilled that I want to stay in the city for the summer. I told her that I've got applications for jobs and that I want to come home, at least for the fair, and she lightened up. She promised to talk to dad about it, and I spent a good chunk of the evening filling out the applications online. The good thing is that for all five of the Stark Tech jobs, I only have to fill out one application.

The next day, I bolted my lunch and went to the library to power read the book for English. It's Moby Dick. Loathsome. I'm rooting for the whale. I was interrupted when Trevor Kaine yanks my ponytail. It's too hard to be a friendly tug, but he's not trying to be friendly. He's being a dick. I ignored him and he thumped down in the next chair and grabbed my book. His hand brushed my boob as he did, and I leaned away. I wear a minimizer bra, but it doesn't do enough. He smirked at me and held the book out of reach. I'm supposed to fight him for the book, but I don't bother. He usually harasses a girl for awhile and eventually moves on to somebody new. A lot of girls he doesn't have to bother, though, he's one of the soccer stars and he's cute, but he thinks he's entitled to do what he wants. And apparently even the smart girls like them cute and dumb (for Midtown) because he has no shortage of dates. But he brushed me off when I said that I'm not interested, and he never does anything that quite crosses over a line that a teacher would have to do something about if they saw. But they give him more leeway than most students anyway. And I don't go anywhere alone with him. It was so irritating that he won't take no for an answer. There were guys here I'd like to date, don't get me wrong, it's just that he's not on the list. He smirked at me. I looked at him expressionlessly.

"Give me back my book," I said levelly. Instead, he tucked it in his pants, daring me to get it. I sneered and got up, walking up to the desk instead. When the librarian looked at me, I told her that I needed another book because Trevor Kaine just put mine down his pants. She looked at me like she can't believe what I just said, but then he walked by, whipped it out, and tossed it on the counter. Neither of us wanted to touch it. She looked at me and told me to go find another copy. I spent the rest of the lunch period in a girls bathroom reading. The next period I got a summons from the vice-principal. The librarian reported the incident to him and he tried to jolly me out of being mad and kind of smoothed over the fact that Trevor touched my breast. He didn't quite tell me to just go out with him but he wouldn't do anything about him, either.

I was so glad to escape the school at the last bell and book over to Avengers tower. Somehow Uncle Bucky got the story out of me. He looked pissed, and I would be afraid if I didn't know he wasn't mad at me. "What are you going to do?" he asked, and I liked that he asked me instead of telling me to do stuff.

"I'm going to talk to my host family tonight," I said. "He's a lawyer--securities, but he still had to study that stuff in law school, so I'll see what he has to say. I might have to tell my parents, they'd come down and yell at the principal."

Uncle Bucky smiled grimly. "Let's go over a few self-defense moves that won't leave a lot of evidence." I smiled back.

"And don't forget, a blow to the testicles works wonders," my aunt said briskly from behind me.

"Doll, that's not the answer to everything," my uncle protested weakly.

"No, but you'd be surprised how fast a guy will lose interest in you if you make his nuts blow up like a balloon," she said, and I smiled. She's kind of awesome.

When I got home later, Sam was pissed when I told him what happened, and he hunted up the school contact list at home and blasted the principal. Afterward, he knocked on the door of my room and handed me a taser that belongs to his wife.

"Mindy doesn't carry it anymore, and you might need it if this jock thinks he's above discipline," Sam said flatly. "Don't be afraid to use it and run. We've got your back." He handed me an instructional booklet that came with the taser, and I thanked him. He's nicer than I thought. I made some conclusions about him based on his detached attitude that are not supported by fact. I called my folks to let them know what's going on, and my dad required an update the next day.

"Let me know immediately if that punk lays a finger on you, baby," my dad instructed firmly. "And use that taser if he even looks at you funny. Don't take any chances." I felt better when I hang up.

I knew just where Aunt Emma would say to fire the taser.

The next day I felt pretty good. I had an interview at Stark Tech HR for a lab assistant job, and afterward, Uncle Bucky wanted to show me more self-defense as well as beginning boxing. I'm going to be a badass in no time.

I was so busy thinking that I was surprised to be pulled in between two delivery vans on the street. It was that asshole, Trevor. He was pissed at me because he got into trouble. His dad apparently yelled at him once the principal called and he's grounded for the weekend. He actually grabbed my boob. I immediately tried to get the taser, but he wrenched my bag away and dropped it behind him. He slammed his hand over my mouth and pushed me against the back of the van before jerking my shirt open. Buttons popped off. I was really scared, but I bit his hand, which caused his hold on me to loosen, and I was able to throw a heck of a punch. He's going to have a beauty of a black eye. He staggered back a couple of steps. Then I gauged my distance and kicked for his nuts. My legs aren't terribly long and my feet might not be good, but I'm really strong and flexible from years of dance and the toe of my dress shoes hit his testicles, just to the side of his worthless dick. He folded like a bad hand of cards, and I grabbed my bag and ran for Avenger Tower. By the time I got there, I wasn't feeling so victorious and the assault kind of of caught up with me. I hadn't planned to put Uncle Bucky's teaching to the test so soon. If at all. I waited til I was at the security desk before calling the cops. There was a cop there before I hung up, almost, and he took my statement and a picture of the damage Trevor did to my blouse. Partway through, Mr Stark showed up, affirmed that I'm there for an interview, and said that he expected that this matter will be handled appropriately. Right after the cop left, Uncle Bucky came over for a big hug, and handed me a t-shirt. It was an Under Armor shirt, the kind he wore when he's teaching. Then I went to clean up, call Sam and my dad, then I actually had the interview before being bundled up to Emma's office. She got me some coffee and cookies and let me relax, nudging a box of Kleenex toward me as she coaxed me into telling them what happened. Both aunt and uncle praised my decisive action and they took me down to a clinic to have my hand looked at. It was bruised but not broken, and I had a cut on one knuckle somehow. Then Uncle Bucky said he'll drive me home and his conveyance was a supercool motorcycle. He patted my shoulder and told me that he's proud of me and that I did a great job.

Sam and Mandy came home early and made sure I'm ok. Then we had a conference call with my parents where I found that things have been moving pretty rapidly. The principal assured Sam that Trevor was going to be kicked off the soccer team and expulsion was going to be considered very seriously. He felt that Trevor's parents would probably put him in another school so he could play; he wanted to get a scholarship. Which meant that his parents were probably going to try very hard to get his assault to go away. So probably there wouldn't be legal action, especially since it was his first documented assault. My folks asked what I wanted to do, and I said that I'd like to stay since it looked like Trevor was going to be made to go away. Sam said he'd file for a restraining order, just to be safe, and my folks agreed to let me stay as long as I came back for a visit after the semester.

I thought I'd really persona non grata at school, and while a lot of people were pissed that one of the star jocks was being withdrawn from school, a few girls came up to me covertly and thanked me. They didn't specify why and I didn't ask, but Aslyn, a tall, gorgeous girl with Asian ancestry sat with me at lunch. We got to talking about a lot of stuff and found that she also had an interview at Stark Tech. We walked over together after school.


	3. Training

Barney is at the security desk, and he looks at me intently. This is the first time I've shown up with anybody else. "Hi," Aslyn says. "I'm here for an interview." Barney doesn't miss a beat. He may look like a rent-a-cop, but he's pretty sharp.

"Your names?" he asks.

"Aslyn Akiyama," she says to him and spells it. "It means 'autumn mountain,'" she says to me in an aside.

"That's pretty," I say. "Barnes means... storage structure, I think." She cracks up and even Barney grins as he picks up the phone.

"Somebody from IT is coming down for you, Ms Akiyama," he says. "And you, miss?"

"Alixzandrya Barnes," I say absently. I flush and spell it for him. He looks enlightened, and picks up the phone.

"Computers, huh?" I ask Aslyn, to divert her attention in case Barney mentions my uncle's name. I'm just not ready for anybody at school to know about my uncle, it's not that I'm ashamed of him. Heck, I'm not even ready for my parents to know that I've met him.

"Yeah, I want to do database administration," she says, looking abashed. "I know coding and hacking and all is cooler, but this is what is interesting to me."

"I have no room to talk," I tell her. "I've applied for the chemistry lab. Nothing more old school than that."

"You want to be a chemist?" she asks as Barney puts down the phone.

"They'll be down for you shortly," Barney tells me, breaking in deftly.

"Thanks," we say, and move to the side.

"I guess so," I tell her. "It's the most interesting thing I've studied so far. And I'm at Midtown so I can study at a better school, get a jump on college credits, get a good career."

She nods sympathetically. "Parents." That makes me chuckle. We hear elevator chimes and look over to see one of the special elevators disgorge a few people. There's a guy in rumpled khakis and buttondown, who couldn't look more sterotypically computer geeky--except he's hot--a really snappy-looking woman in flowing pants and a lab coat, and both Mr Stark and Uncle Bucky. Both of us let out exhales of appreciation, possibly for different reasons.

"This is a good looking company," Aslyn mutters to me. I grin. Khaki guy looks at us both and nods to Aslyn.

"Akiyama," he says to her. "You're with me. Todd Hall." He leads her back to the elevator. "We'll be interviewing with a couple of the other analysts in the conference room--" His voice cuts off when they enter the elevator.

"Hey, kid," my uncle says, putting his arm around my shoulders and pecking my cheek. It still feels kind of odd, actually, seeing as how I just met him a short time ago, but nice.

"Alex," Mr Stark greets me briskly. "This is Carolyn Martin." The lady in the lab coat smiles at me. "You'll be working with her."

"I got the job?" I said blankly.

Ms Martin rolls her eyes. "It's normally the procedure for the labs to interview the candidates," she says crisply, looking hard at Mr Stark, who is totally not worried about a thing. "But Mr Stark made this hire himself." She looks at Bucky, who still has his arm around me. "I've seen your resume and listened to the interview, and I think you'll be fine." I cringe. Starting out on the wrong foot, but at least she doesn't seem to hold it against me personally. "Let's go."

"See you later, Uncle Bucky," I say. "Mr Stark." I follow Ms Martin to the elevators and am a little surprised when both men follow. In the elevator, my uncle asks me about my day and Aslyn, seeming pleased that I've made a new acquaintance. Ms Martin and Mr Stark listen. So awkward. Now everybody knows I'm not popular. At least I'm able to report an A on the chemistry pop quiz.

"That's good," Ms Martin says approvingly. "We don't actually get many applications for the chem lab position. I was pretty much resigned to having to hire somebody from the biology applicants." We get off on an administration floor and follow the sign to HR. All four of us. Yay. There's a bunch of paperwork to fill out, my picture is taken for an ID badge, and I'm given other papers and a packet of HR policies to read later. Then Ms Martin leads me to the elevators and has me use my card to make sure it works. Mr Stark and Bucky watch interestedly. It's a little trying to have them hanging around, especially when I want to show Ms Martin that this apparent nepotism doesn't mean I'm useless. We go up as Ms Martin explains the deal with the elevators; there's a set of elevators that just go the first five floors; Mr Stark leases retail space at the bottom of the tower. There's a Starbucks, some price-friendly restaurants, a bank branch that will cash payroll checks if you don't have a bank account, and a couple of stores like American Eagle Outfitter. A couple of the stores give a discount to tower employees; you just have to show your badge. These floors are open to the public. Then there's a second set of elevators that give access to the rest of the tower except the top floors, which are reserved for the Avengers. There's one special elevator that has access to the whole tower, but that's reserved for the Avengers. And employees' IDs restrict where you're allowed to go; my ID is restricted to the HR floors and the chemistry lab floors. Uncle Bucky frowns.

"I want her to be able to access the training facilities," he tells Mr Stark, who nods and motions for my ID. I hand it over, a little reluctantly. When the door opens , finally the guard dogs peel off and Ms Martin shows me around. It's pretty plush for a lab. There's a receptionist, Sarah (her last name isn't given) who waves at me as she efficiently routes calls to offices. At the front, near the elevators, is a block of offices for the real scientists. There's also a conference room and break room that is really nice, with a state of the art refrigerator, microwave that looks like it came straight from some mad scientist, vending machines and a filtered water station. At the supply closet, she issues me a lab coat with the Stark Tech logo on the left side and a pair of safety glasses. She hands me a box of nitrile gloves in my size and takes me to a prep lab which will be my work home from home. I have a hook by the door for my lab coat (she makes a label with my name on it) and a cupboard where I can keep my stuff. I place my glasses and gloves there, and she sticks another label on it and hands me the key. There are four lab assistants in Chemistry, and it's expected that our schedules will overlap since we're all still in high school. The difference between paid lab assistants and interns getting credits is that interns are assigned to individual scientists and work with that person, whereas we lab assistants get handed tasks which we are responsible for doing. Our assignments have to come from Ms Martin; if we're asked to do something by a scientist or intern, we have to get approval from her first. Apparently in the past these little side projects have been pretty hazardous.

"And I don't care who got you hired," she tells me sternly. "Break the safety rules and you're fired." I nod without complaint. Safety first. She shows me the eyewash station and the emergency shower; if for any reason there's a medical emergency, use of either of these apparatuses will summon help from the clinic. Of which there is one, in house, just a few floors down. There's a first aid kit mounted prominently on the wall and I'm told that next week there'll be a first aid class that all lab assistants are required to take. I'm given a lab manual of procedures I'll be responsible for. This also contains a protocol for cleaning up chemical spills and additional safety information. Then she shows me the stockroom; glassware and other reusable things like crucibles and stirring rods are in a separate room from the chemicals, which are subdivided themselves. Solvents are placed in a ventilated room. Pure elements are in one set of cabinets, organic compounds in another set, and inorganic in the final set. Everything else, like weigh boats, filter paper, and capillary tubes are in the final room. The walls are glass, so there's a feeling of spaciousness and light. Access here is also done with my badge. There are also cameras everywhere, which makes me feel twitchy, but she assures me I'll get used to it fast.

Then we go to her office and she explains that to start, I'll be making reagents for the labs. I'm low person on the totem pole since I'm the new hire, which is fine by me. Down the road, I'll get to make more specialized solutions. She asks if I have a problem with that. I blink. "No, I'm in high school. I can follow procedures as well as anybody else, but we don't get to do a lot of that in chem lab, the teacher makes up what we need. I feel better starting with the simpler things." She smiles at me and we go over what I'll be making first, which is basically a series of acids and bases, strong and weak. The procedures for making each one is in my lab book and she has me look them over and ask questions. I don't have any; it's pretty straightforward. As I'm watching a safety video that outlines the rules and expectations and what to do in an emergency, which are pretty strict, as you'd think, my uncle and Mr Stark come back in. Ms Martin looks a little irritated, and she explains how to check to see what I need to make. I will also be responsible for cleaning glassware for assigned labs, starting in the semivolatile organics lab, and she makes sure I know how to clean the glassware for analytical analysis, including the use of the ovens to dry it off, and which types of glassware can't be heated, and of course there are taps for deionized water at every sink. Then I have to sign a statement that I've received training on my responsibilities and watched the safety video.

"Now, your ID badge is a very sensitive item," she says seriously. "You'll be legally liable if anybody else uses your badge, so you need to keep it on you at all times when you're in the tower and be very careful where you leave it when you're not here. If it's stolen or you think somebody got access to it at some point, you need to tell me and security immediately. There's a phone list of important numbers in your information packet that includes my cell phone, so even if it's the middle of the night, make those calls." I nod, daunted. The badge on its lanyard is dangled over my shoulder, and I slip it over my head. Ms Martin nods approvingly. We work out my schedule--I've been able to rearrange my tutoring a little for the rest of the semester, so I can block out two afternoons a week and I can come in on Sundays for the rest of the hours. "Are you going to be tutoring this summer?" she asks, and I shake my head, explaining that I'll be able to quit tutoring with this job. She looks pleased; I'll be able to get more hours here over the summer and next school year if my schedule's open. Then we're done, and my first official day will be Friday afternoon. We stand and shake hands.

"Thank you," I said. "I really appreciate this opportunity. I'll be sure to have the reading done by Friday." She smiles at me and Mr Stark herds me out and to the elevators. Then we go down to the subbasement level and Uncle Bucky takes over once we get into the gym space, giving me some clothes that turn out to be yoga pants and an Under Armour t shirt like the one he wears. He has me walk briskly on the treadmill to warm up, and tells me to stretch. I do the stretches I'd do in ballet class, and look up to see him and Mr Stark looking at me funny. "What?" I ask, before finishing by bending and hugging my torso to my legs. My feet turn out automatically.

"You're really flexible," Uncle Bucky says. I shrug.

"I used to dance, remember?" I asked. He shakes his head and focuses.

"I want to start you on Systema," he tells me. "It's what I was trained in by HYDRA, since we were in the Soviet Union, and I know it best. It's mainly composed of hand-to-hand combat, grappling, knife fighting, and firearms training. Training involves drills and no set katas. You need to keep your mind free of emotion, including irritation from whatever happened at school, pride, or fear. The body needs to be relaxed but ready to work, flexible--although you already have that covered--strong, and ready to build endurance and fluid movement. Although your dance probably also will have that last covered too." He nods in satisfaction.

I put my hand up and wave it a little. "Um... I'm not complaining, but why do you want me to learn all that?" I ask when he nods at me.

"For self defense," he says.

"Yeah, but do I need to know all that just to fend off the odd mugger or rapist?" I ask. "I did ok with Trevor. It's kind of daunting. I'm not going to be a superhero."

Mr Stark butts in. "You sure about that?" he asks. "You find a niche, get legal, we could make room for you."

"I don't have any special abilities," I say immediately. "I don't know that I have anything to offer that's special or unique, and I don't have a driving ambition to put myself into situations where the chances are high that I'll get hurt or killed. I've had sports injuries and they're no fun, but at least I did it to myself. I don't want other people to hurt me."

"That's smart," my uncle says approvingly. "And maybe you don't need to learn all that, but you might find it fun. You're athletic." That makes sense to me, and he starts me off on some basic hand-to-hand drills. I didn't bring athletic shoes, so for today I'm barefoot. When my uncle proposed this training, I was a little apprehensive, but I pick it up quick and easy. It's actually fun. He looks gratified by this and sends me to shower when we're done. The time passed really fast. There's nice products in the showers and the towels are a lot nicer than I thought they'd be. I twist my wet hair into a bun at the base of my head and go back out. Mr Stark and Bucky are insulting each other amiably when I come out, and we head up to Aunt Emma's for cookies. I tell her about my day and Uncle Bucky gets to brag about how quickly I picked up the basic drills. She shudders.

"I hated working out," she said. "Good thing Steve isn't here, or he'd be running you over an obstacle course. Yuck." Uncle Bucky laughs.

"I liked it," I said, biting into a cookie that's rolled up with dates and almonds. "It was fun." I smiled at Uncle Bucky, who looks pleased. "I'd kind of like to hit something, though."

"We can add boxing," Uncle Bucky immediately offers, and I perk up. Mr Stark rolls his eyes.

"I can tell you're family," he says to Uncle Bucky, who puffs up a little.

"Yeah, brains, beauty, sheer physical ability. It's obvious," he says, and Mr Stark gags. Then I have to go. I need to start organizing and getting ready for finals, especially since now I've got this new set of activities here. Uncle Bucky takes me down and tells me that Mr Stark gave me access to the whole tower since I'm family to an Avenger. Two, since Emma is my aunt by marriage. Geeze. I'm probably going to have to sleep with the badge on now. It goes without saying that this is to be closely-held knowledge.

In celebration of my new job, I splurge and have dinner at a restaurant in the tower where I get my first employee discount, then go home and hit the books. I get to tell Sam and Mindy that school was fine, no problems, and that I'd landed a job. They're pleased for me and Mindy makes us sundaes to celebrate. Then it's homework time and I finish by reviewing the HR packet. My eyebrows raise at the sheet where it list my hourly wage, which was higher than advertised. I shoot them an email to get it corrected. And it will be. I don't want special favors at work because of my uncle. It's bad enough that Mr Stark rearranged the hiring process.

The next day at school, Aslyn came up to me at lunch and I asked her how the interview went. She's happy about it and asked me about mine, and I say that I got the job. "Ms Martin says that they don't get a lot of applicants for the chemistry jobs," I say truthfully.

"But they wouldn't hire just anybody," she says. "So congratulations!" We talk about the perks of the job some, which makes her more enthusiastic. Me too, frankly.

"It was amazing to see Tony Stark in person," she says enthusiastically. "He's shorter than I thought. And surprisingly hot, for an old guy. And so was the Winter Soldier. In the pictures he always looks so grim. But in person, wow." I can't help but squirm a little. And I have to bite my tongue not to snark about Stark. Then she asks for my phone and gives me hers, so I guess we're friends now. And that night she calls to talk about calculus; she's got a different teacher so we have information to share.

Friday she tells me that she got her job too, so we have a crisp high five and get a celebratory brownie at lunch. It's from an institutional mix, but it's chocolate and therefore a treat by definition. When I checked email, I find an email that says that the increase was requested by Ms Martin because she didn't have to scrounge around for an applicant for the job. I still kind of think that Mr Stark had something to do with it, but I can't do anything about it. Plus it's a little crazy to turn down an extra whole dollar an hour. And there's a reminder that I have a .stark-tech.com email address and I should use it for official business. Oops.

I hustle over to the tower immediately after school, and now I don't have to sign in, although I wave to Barney. I use my badge for the first time on my own and go up to the lab. Ms Martin comes with me and I stow my bag in my cupboard, put on the lab coat, stick the safety glasses in the breast pocket, and she watches to make sure that I correctly log onto the system and pull up the queue of work. She shows me how to check priorities and watches as I demonstrate I know how to make the first solution on the list.

"Um, Ms Martin," I say awkwardly when she turns to go. "I kinda wanted to apologize for the, um, irregularities in my application process. I wanted to get the job on my own."

She looks at me intently. "Well, good for you," she says after a moment. "But you can rest assured that regardless of Tony Stark's influence, if you don't work out, you won't be working in this lab."

It's a weird reaction, but I relax at her words. "That makes me feel better."

She grins and pats my shoulder. "You're a weird kid, but I think you'll be a good fit here." I turn back to my work queue in relief. It doesn't take long to really get into the work. It's not difficult so long as I focus, and Ms Martin showed me a really neat feature that activates an alarm when my work time is up for the day. I'm startled when it activates; it doesn't seem like I've been working that long. I clean up carefully, put my stuff away, and go downstairs.

After warming up and stretching, Uncle Bucky has me repeat the drills we did the other day, and I'm pleased that I haven't forgotten anything. He teaches me a couple of new drills, and then we go over to the stationary bag. He puts gloves on me and shows me how to punch. The first blow to the bag travels up my arm and into my core, but the second one isn't as jarring, and soon I'm hitting with enthusiasm. My uncle watches carefully and makes corrections as the need pops up. He's enthusiastic when we stop, and Emma drops by with an invitation to dinner tomorrow night.

"I'm sorry," I tell her, crestfallen. "But Aslyn invited me to a party tomorrow night and we're going to dinner first."

"Party?" Uncle Bucky says alertly.

"It's at a friend of hers, goes to another school. There will be a lot of new people there," I explain and he nods.

"Don't drink or take anything funny," he advised. "And you can throw a good punch. If you need to, remember to avoid hitting bone with your bare hand."

"It's just a party," I say, taken aback.

"You can't be too careful," he tells me severely. "You're pretty, and be sure to watch your non-alcoholic drink so nobody can slip anything into it." He goes over to a desk in the corner and roots around. Aunt Emma and I watch in silence. He returns with a piece of paper. "This is the Stark Tech account for the cab company and Uber. If you need a ride, I expect you to use it." I take the card from him and put it in my wallet dutifully.

"Thanks," I say. And it is nice that he cares.

"Can you come for lunch instead?" Aunt Emma asks, getting things back on track, and I can do a late lunch. My last tutoring appointment isn't far from where they live.


	4. Party

I finish my tutoring sessions with a feeling of relief. Now that I have a better alternative lined up, I can admit that I'm not really fond of tutoring and I'll be relieved when I can give it up.

"But instructing can be rewarding," my uncle says as we wait for Aunt Emma to finish lunch. I offered to help, but she shooed me to sit with Uncle Bucky.

"If the students want to be there," I say wryly. "I wouldn't know how that feels. The parents of all my students kind of force them to be there."

"But you've never managed to reach a student, even briefly?" he asks.

I remember the real estate kid and have to nod. "Once. It did feel good," I have to agree. He grins. "But work with the Avengers," I point out. "That must be easy for you."

"Not as much as you might think," he says, leaning back with a groan. "Your aunt there wasn't enthusiastic at all. I had to scare her periodically to get her to really focus." My eyes widen as she chuckles and turns to the table with a bowl of salad.

"Yeah, if I'd had my way, I would have just spent my time in the lab, but they kept dragging me out. Steve made me run this horrible obstacle course. He kept changing it. Then there were calisthenics and weights, just like gym class used to be, then the daily torture with Bucky. Steve was lucky I loved him or I probably would have tried to kill him in his sleep," she said, and I giggled. "You think I'm joking, but I'm not. The only thing good about that course was the zip line." Wow. That did sound awesome. "One time I was running it and there was this vast mud field. About as long as a football field, mud over my knees." She shook her head. "We had quite a spat about that. And to keep me motivated, Bucky was the Winter Soldier when he trained me. I about peed myself the first time we sparred."

"She was not the most motivated student," Bucky agrees. "But I did manage to scare her into competence with her poleaxe, so that's something." He sighs. "She was very reluctant to hit me."

I was kind of baffled, looking between the two of them. "But it's not like you could really hurt him, unless there was a big accident," I say tactlessly. Uncle Bucky about busts a gut laughing and Aunt Emma flushes.

"See? There's the respect for my skills," he goads his wife, who rolls her eyes.

"I don't like to hurt people," she says firmly, and we let it drop. But, really? I could go full out against him, with my new, very limited skills, and I doubt that I could lay a glove on him unless he let me or made a mistake. It was reassuring, actually.

Aunt Emma came to the table with a plate of paninis. Oh, wow. Yum. We ate in silence until the first pangs of hunger were satisfied, then she asked me how my job was going (so far so good) and they both had questions about my classes and tutoring. We were just finishing when Mr Stark came in. Geeze, it's like he lives here or something. It's not all that relaxing to have my uber boss turning up unpredictably all the damn time, but on the other hand, it's not my house. And I have to say, it wasn't so bad. He mostly listened to what I was saying (I was answering a question about the classes I wanted to take next fall) and then told me that there was a tuition reimbursement program at work if I wanted to take some college-level courses before graduation. I perked up immediately. That would be a huge help. Finally, though, I had to get going. I had some studying to do before I went out with Aslyn. Uncle Bucky walked me out, advising me to be careful again, and told me to call if I ran into any trouble. I gave him a little hug and a thanks for lunch again, and went home. He's so solid it's like hugging a brick wall, but more...cozy. With flannel. It's a nice spring day, but he says he doesn't like to be cold.

I managed to get my term paper for honors English done before it was time to get ready. It was supposed to be a casual party, so I wore my favorite jeans, booties, and a pretty rose-colored blouse. I stuffed some money in my pocket, put the card with the cab information that Uncle Bucky had given me in my coat with my phone, and checked out with Sam and Mindy, who also told me to call if I needed a ride. I waved and met Aslyn and two of her friends that go to school elsewhere at the restaurant. We ordered a bunch of appetizers for the variety and they were good about explaining who people and what happened at other times so I could follow along. Karen was a dancer, I found out quickly, who went to the Fame school. We started to talk about dance, and she told me that I should contact a studio where she took classes during the summer; they had a shorter session for those who weren't leaving for the summer and she thought there might still be room. It was awfully tempting. I'd have to crunch some numbers, but I might be able to do it. By the end of dinner, I'd exchanged phone numbers with Karen and Rill (short for Marilla) and felt like I had a couple of new friends. Aslyn told us about her interview and the other two were impressed that we were going to be working at Stark Tech. Rill had a job at Sephora and Karen was going to be learning project management skills at her family's renovation company.

"I can't dance forever," she said, shrugging. "I might get an offer to join the corps de ballet of some company after high school or maybe a scholarship to college, but even if I don't get injured, a dancer's career is pretty short, and there's always a need for people who know how to manage renovations. Just for a bathroom remodel, you might need electrical, plumbing, and HVAC permits and inspections, plus installation of fixtures, flooring, tile, and painting. Somebody's got to put all that together and make sure it runs on time." It sounded pretty impressive to me.

Then we ambled over to the party, which was in the Gramercy Park neighborhood. Pretty swank. The hostess, a girl named Lisa, had gone to middle school with the other three and seemed nice. They chatted a bit, then she told me that the only rules were that the bedrooms were off limits and anything goes as long as it's not so rowdy that the police get called. That leaves a lot of room for interpretation, but that at least met one of Uncle Bucky's criteria. She pointed us to the bar, where I broke one of Uncle Bucky's suggestions and snagged a beer. I can make one beer last the whole evening, the narrow neck of the bottle made it harder to put something in than a cup if there was any of that going on, and I could hang onto it while dancing. And there was music and a lot of guys, so it wasn't long before we were all dancing. It was fun. I met a lot of people and immediately forgot about half the names, saw some pills being passed around but wasn't offered any, and I didn't see my new friends partaking either. I pooped out around one; I wasn't used to parties anymore and the socialization wore me out. Aslyn, Rill, and Karen weren't ready to go yet, so I said goodbye. There were some guys who looked like they might be trouble when I started down the street toward public transportation, so I called a cab. I didn't give them the Stark account number, though, regardless of what my uncle said, using it to go home from a high school party seemed like a good way to get fired from my lab assistant job. Fortunately, Sam and Mindy didn't live a huge distance away and I just had enough for the fare and tip.

The next day, there were more people at the tower than I'd expected for a Sunday, and one of the actual chemists popped in the prep lab to introduce himself as Ted and tell me to ask if I had any questions. I told him I wasn't speedy but I was getting things done, and he said that was a great way to go about the job. It was kind of amazing how much work was done with acids and bases, and not just in the chem labs. The biochem labs needed it to adjust pH in their work too, and I got to see more of the labs when I delivered the carboys with their work orders. The guy who signed for the delivery smirked when I said I was surprised there were so many people there on the weekend.

"We're a bunch of workaholics," he said, winking at me. "For science!" he said loudly, and pushed the cart back into their lab space. I grinned. People here were kind of odd, but friendly and seemed nice.

I'd brought my lunch and explored the vending options when I finally took my break. The policies handbook was explicit, almost threatening about what breaks had to be taken and when. There was one machine with the usual chips and candy, a soda machine, and a vending machine that had fresh fruit, packets of celery and carrot sticks with lite ranch dip, and bottles of fruit juice. I split the difference and had chips with my sandwich and purchased an apple and diet Coke. Then it was back to work, and as I was finishing up some glassware (I had to check with Ted about part of the procedure to make sure I had it straight) I felt a rumbling go through the building.

"That's just the quinjet," Ted said offhandedly, coming in to check that I was doing ok. "Mr Stark keeps one up on the Avengers floors, so you're likely to hear it coming and going a lot." I wondered if my uncle had anything to do with that, then remembered he was retired from active missions. The computer chimed with the alert to stop working.

"Time flies around here," I said absently, and Ted laughed.

"It does," he agreed. "Next week come find me, and I'll show you more of what we do here. You might be bored with acids and bases by then." I smiled.

The next couple of weeks flew by and it wasn't hard to adapt to my new schedule. I did tutoring after school on Mondays and Wednesdays and on Saturday mornings. I had work at the tower after school on Tuesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, and all day Sunday. I worked out with Uncle Bucky after work during the week and went over to his and Aunt Emma's for lunch on Saturdays. Two weeks after getting started, I had an audition at the studio Karen had recommended. The dancer who ran the studio had been a soloist for the American Ballet Theatre. She praised what I did well--I had a great turnout and flexibility and my jumps were excellent, then discussed what I didn't do well--some of my technique was sloppy, and sometimes my hands got too tight, particularly in arabesque. She wasn't mean about it though, and after making sure I realized that I wasn't likely to be able to make a career of it, said I could join her summer classes and we could later talk about my participation in the fall. With what I was making at my job, I'd be able to take a class a week. Ms Martin hadn't asked for my summer schedule yet, so I wouldn't have any trouble fitting this in. Most of the kids in the class also worked, so classes were first thing in the morning. Karen was excited and it was quickly arranged that she and her mom would pick me up for class since I lived between them and the studio.

Too soon, it was finals. I hate them; no matter how well prepared I am, I worry that there's going to be a huge, unpleasant surprise at the end of them, but I was ok this year. The next week I went home for a visit and found my old dance bag that had the bands that assisted my stretches, a new set of toe pads and spare ribbons for pointe shoes, and a couple pair of tights that were still good. I'd gotten a couple of new leotards and a pair of pointe shoes in the city. My dance skirts, leg warmers, and shrugs were in my bureau. It was great to be home. I spent some time with dad in the shop; J had shot up a couple of inches and was his insufferable self, but I was glad to see him anyway. Mom was a little worried about my picking up dance again, but when I reassured her it was just a hobby, she was a little easier about it. I'd been one of the top dancers at the area studio, but that status didn't translate to the dance capital of the country. I still loved it, though.

"You get too thin when you're dancing," she said, still sporting a British accent even after two decades in America. "And it's ridiculous that you think your chest is too big. You're only a C. Most girls would kill for your boobs." I laughed, but she had a point. Like most girls who danced long enough to put on pointe shoes, I'd hoped that I'd be able to make it a career, but moving to New York had really shown me that it wasn't realistic, and my technique had really suffered from the break I'd taken from class. I knew that my body image was a little unhealthy ; it was hard to keep strength up and body fat down, and anything that jiggled, including boobs, was the enemy.

I slept in in the mornings and hung out with my friends, although the friendships were starting to fade a little with separation. Grades were posted that Friday; all As except for a B in history. My parents were very pleased, and J rolled his eyes. He was sporting a solid B average. I felt refreshed when I went back. Somehow I never got around to the topic of Uncle Bucky.

When I got back to the lab, I met two of the other three assistants. I never met the fourth; he was a senior from a different high school who was working only part time and whose schedule never overlapped mine. The guys were nice enough, but they kind of liked to show off their seniority and didn't seem to take the work too seriously. Who knew? Maybe I was taking it too seriously. They were only working about twenty hours a week because they played baseball in a league. Jeff and Rick also seemed to talk a lot more than they worked, but on the other hand, they didn't have Mr Stark popping in every now and then to see how they were doing. Fortunately, he only did it when I was the only one working. He and my aunt and uncle popped in at irregular intervals to see how I was doing, although my aunt and uncle were more likely to wait to talk to me when I went downstairs to work out. Finally I'd had to ask Mr Stark not to come by so much; I'd ruined a silver nitrate solution when he'd startled me. "I appreciate your interest in my job performance, but if I make a mistake with what I'm making, it just wastes everybody else's time and your money," I said, as tactfully as I knew how. "It's not very skilled work, but it's mine, and my responsibility. I don't want people to think I'm a flake who can't be relied on." He'd looked at me intently and finally agreed to stay away. He showed up downstairs a lot more, though.

I asked my aunt about that because it was kind of creeping me out. "It's nothing to worry about," she said to reassure me. "He's not some creepy old guy. Part of it's because he's insatiably curious and he's not really familiar with regular teenagers. Part of it's because you're Bucky's niece, and part of it's that he's always on the lookout for talent, for his business empire as well as the Avengers. I think he's evaluating you for more responsibility at work, and I don't know that he's given up on making a hero out of you." Then she sighed. "He used to have an intern working for him who became a superhero, but with one thing and another, I kind of adopted him like a son. I kind of feel like Tony's maybe angling to bring you under his influence." She frowned. "That sounds more malevolent than I meant it to. He's fundamentally lonely, is the problem, and he's not particularly good at making friends. They usually have to run around after him, cleaning up. He has two speeds, full and stop. He's too unpredictable to keep a woman, not that there are that many who are willing to put up with him risking his life so often as Iron Man, so it's not looking like there'll be a third generation of Starks heading up the empire once he's gone. He's observed our interactions, and Bucky and mine with the young man I referenced earlier, and I think he envies it. I'm definitely not saying that you should contemplate a closer relationship with Tony, but I think you should know what's going on in that twisty head of his." She shook her head. "Tony's got some fine qualities, but he's not the most stable person I know. He respects people who are straight with him, though, so if he's making you nervous, tell him." She started to laugh. "It doesn't mean he'll back off, he'll probably just try a different angle. But if it gets to be too much, just tell me and I'll talk to him. Don't tell Bucky, though. If Steve were still around, he could take it to Tony and it would be ok, but there's a little too much between Bucky and Tony for that to work." She let me mull that over a bit. "So, you're taking dance lessons? What's that like?"

I found myself explaining what the three-hour classes were like, and my uncle came in partway through and listened quietly. "Is there going to be a recital at the end of it?" she asked. There would be, although it wasn't as big a production as the one at the end of a school year.

"We want to come," my uncle said, surprising me. "I've never been to one, and I'd like to see you dance." I smiled and looked up the date for them.

"I'm looking forward to it," I told them. "Plus now I have a partner. We didn't have them back at my old studio, all the boys did other sports. It's fun."

"We'll go incognito," Emma said.

"It's not that I'm not proud of you, kid," Bucky said, "it's just that some villains will target you if they know you're family, and I don't want that to happen."

I drew in a breath. "I haven't quite told my folks that I've met you yet," I say nervously. Bucky smiled.

"Don't worry, kid. You can tell them when you're ready, or never. I don't want to be a problem for you."

I frowned. "They should want to meet you. You're wonderful. It's just that I'm worried they'd make me go back if they knew," I said.

Bucky blinked a few times; his eyes were shiny. Emma covered his hand and he covered hers. Not to be left out, I put my hand on top of the stack, and Emma put her arm around me.

"It means the world that you think that," she said. "But there's no point in causing trouble, so let's let it go for now. I don't have cookies, but would anybody like cake?"


	5. Summer

It was my first experience with New York City in the summer. All the pavement and buildings made it even hotter, and it was crowded with tourists. I was glad to spend my days inside at work.

My birthday was July 8, and it was the first time I didn't go home for it. But Aunt Emma made me a cake; it was a marble cake baked in a pan that was a dragon and her eggs. It was the first time I saw her collection of bundt pans and cake pans that produced an image on the cake. She's a total hoarder. She put seventeen candles along the spine of the dragon, which made me laugh. Uncle Bucky made me dinner, my favorite: steaks on the grill, and we had sparkling cider with the cake. They'd gotten a hold of the equipment list for school and my present was the fee for the Lifetime Sports class plus the gear I'd need for it. Unsurprisingly, Mr Stark showed up, but he also had a present, a gift card for Barnes and Noble. My folks sent gift cards that I could use for school clothes; J sent me one for Sephora, and I went in when Rill was working. She couldn't do makeovers yet but she recommended one of the other specialists and we went out for a smoothie on her break. I bought some of the products from the woman who did the makeover, but went back another day and bought the rest from Rill. I had to admit I looked a lot better with the new stuff and the tips for applying it.

Dance was a lot of fun. It didn't take me long to realize that the other girls were better than me, and from the way the teacher corrected them, they might not be good enough for the next level either. I mean, I'd known that I wasn't good enough to make that transition myself, but to see it for myself every week forced me to really accept it. And once I did, I stopped obsessing over my weight and the competition and just really enjoyed the dance. Kind of a farewell, I guess. I worked hard on my technique and managed significant improvements, but I had to agree with my teacher that there just wasn't much point to continuing in the fall. And at least I'd gotten to dance with a partner once in my life. Chuck was tall, blond, and broad-shouldered and the best male dancer. He could make anybody look better, which is why he got stuck with me, but he was good-natured about it. For the recital, we were assigned different colors for leotards and the long, graceful tulle tutus. I got teal, which I liked a lot; it made my skin look more fair and my eyes more blue. We had little rings of flowers to go around our buns, and it all looked very nice. It went off without a hitch and I felt that I danced the best I'd ever done. Afterward, Emma and Bucky took me out for ice cream to celebrate.

I might be saying goodbye to dance, but Systema was my new interest. Having a coach like Uncle Bucky made a world of difference; he never got frustrated with me and he never took it easy on me. I collected my share of bruises, but I was doing well. One day I came down a little early. Uncle Bucky wasn't there yet, so I hopped on a treadmill to warm up. A guy strolled in, smirked at me, and got on the special treadmill. It was the one that Mr Stark had made for Quicksilver so he wouldn't destroy it with his speed. Pietro Maximoff hit it with full speed. It was impressive, I had to admit, as I strolled along on my treadmill. After ten minutes, I shut it off and got off and started to stretch. Quicksilver slowed and hopped off.

"And who are you? I didn't know we were getting anybody new," he asked. He'd been in the States awhile, but he still had his Sokovian accent. It was engaging.

I smiled. "I'm not up for Avengers membership. I'm Alex Barnes. Bucky's my uncle." He looked enlightened.

"The ballerina?" he asked, looking me over.

"Used to be," I corrected. "I'm not good enough to keep going."

"How hard can it be?" Pietro wondered. "You go up on your toes, wave your arms around, jump a little, be pretty." I snorted, then did my best jump, a grand jete, nice and flat. I didn't have the hang time I usually did since I wasn't all stretched and prepared, but it was still darned good.

I smirked at him. "You try."

He couldn't turn down the challenge, but... it wasn't pretty.

"Not as easy as it looks," Uncle Bucky commented, strolling over and kissing my cheek. "If it doesn't look effortless, you're not doing it right," he told Pietro. "And it takes a lot of strength and flexibility to get to that point." He tugged my pony tail. "Are you all stretched out?"

I smiled; he knew I wasn't, so I stepped away and continued. I'd worked really hard for my flexibility and didn't want to lose it. Uncle Bucky never hurried me along. While I stretched, he and Pietro talked, Uncle Bucky bragging about me a little. I hid my smile and finished with full developpes on each side, calf up by my ear, then chose to come to a stop in third position.

"And she is learning Systema?" Pietro said skeptically.

"She's coming along well," my uncle said serenely. Pietro snorted in disbelief. "Why don't you try attacking her without your speed?" he invited.

"I don't want to hurt her," Pietro protested.

"Try," my uncle said. It was an order. I stood ready, knees slightly bent, feet about shoulder-width apart, hands by my sides, relaxed but prepared. Pietro came at me, trying to grab me. I put him on the ground.

"Again," Bucky commanded, and this time I immobilized Pietro on the ground, holding his arm in such a way that the shoulder could be easily dislocated if I chose. I made my point, then released his arm and stepped back. When he got to his feet, he looked pissed. Then he shrugged it off.

"What does it matter?" he asked. "When I'm in the field, I can use my speed."

"Don't you ever have to take a break?" I asked, and he kind of glared at me. Then he sniffed and stomped off.

"Got him right in the pride, sweetie," Uncle Bucky reflected, putting his arm around me briefly. "That was a good start. Let's drill some more, and I'll teach you a few new things. Then we can box." I perked up. I was learning a new elbow strike when I saw in the mirrors that lined the wall behind the weights that we had company. I ignored them and kept my focus until I'd successfully defended against Bucky's attack. He might have been a little distracted, though; I clipped his nose with my elbow.

"Oops," I said, and trotted over to his desk for the box of Puffs. He took some and tipped his head back.

"Nice job, sweetie," he said, patting my shoulder.

"Wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it," Mr Stark said.

"Anybody can get lucky," I said.

"Don't devalue your achievement," my uncle said sternly. "You got me fair and square. If you'd been going full out, you probably would have broken my nose."

"The gifts are evident in the family," a new voice said, and I looked around to see King T'Challa.

Bucky tossed the tissues into the trash and shook T'Challa's hand. "This is my niece, Alixzandrya Barnes," he said, and I could hear some pride in his words. I liked how he put a Russian accent on my name. It sounded cooler that way.

"Charmed," the king said, nodding at me and extending his hand. It was a powerful handshake. "Are you being considered for membership in the Avengers?"

"No," I said, cutting off Mr Stark, who had just opened his mouth.

The king cocked his head and regarded me. "And may I ask why not? You are obviously skilled."

I shot a grin at my uncle for the compliment to his teaching, then sobered. "Well, in my dad's family, there have been eleven of us from Uncle Bucky's generation to mine. Of these, three joined the military. Uncle Bucky was lost--" I slid my hand into his metal one--"his brother George was killed during Korea, and William's daughter was killed in Vietnam. As a family, we're 0-3 at surviving wars. If I do public service, I'd like to feel like it's not guaranteed I'll die." T'Challa's face was pensive. "There were over 16 million Americans fighting in World War 2. Just over 400 000 died. That means a lot of Gold Star families, but a small number of the total who served. In Korea, there were... 5 700 000 service members and over 53 000 deaths. In Vietnam, in excess of 5 800 000 served, about 80 000 deaths. The odds should be against that kind of mortality for one family, but there you go." I shook my head. "My aunt Jenny served as one of about 11 000 women in Vietnam. She was a nurse, she should have been pretty safe. Instead she was the last of nine women killed there. So you can see where I'm a little paranoid."

The men were looking at me with surprise. "What?"

"It's surprisingly detailed," Mr Stark said.

"Well, Uncle Bucky's sacrifice was a family legend. There's been a strong tendency to want to be worthy of that. I mean, he's a genuine war hero from the 'Greatest Generation.' "

"I bet that changed," Bucky said dryly.

"Went a bit splat," I affirmed, squeezing his hand. "But when I read about what happened to you, it seemed like a much bigger sacrifice than I'd been able to imagine. I wouldn't have made it through all that, so I stopped thinking about military service as a career. Later, J started having nightmares and I found he'd been sneaking my copy of the book. That's when he focused on sports. He'd also been talking about enlisting in the Marines before." Uncle Bucky passed his free hand over his face.

"Kids are terrifying," he remarked to the room at large. "Sweetie, I never wanted to go to war. I waited til I was drafted. And I would have died in the POW camp if it hadn't been for Stevie."

"But you went anyway," I reminded him. "You could have tried for conscientious objector status or something. But you went and you did your best. You made Sergeant pretty quickly. And nobody made you join the Commandos. That was your choice, out of friendship and duty. You said that in the book," I stressed. "So you can see where it was genuinely inspirational."

"If I'd thought that anybody would take me as some kind of a role model, I'd have sat my ass down," he retorted.

"Bull," I said affectionately. He looked like he wanted to say something in rebuttal, but shut his mouth instead. "There's no guarantee we would have done it," I said, trying to buck up my uncle. "We were just kids."

"You're still a kid," Mr Stark pointed out.

"Not for much longer, I'm seventeen. In less than a year, if I wanted to I could enlist." Bucky's hand spasmed around mine. "But I've still got college to get through, maybe some grad school, so I have time to figure out how I can contribute to the common good. I just don't want to do in a way that's probably going to be lethal."

"That's very sensible," King T'Challa said after a moment.

"What brought you down here, anyway?" Uncle Bucky asked the other men, trying to reboot the conversation.

"I wanted to say hello," the king murmured. "Samuel said that he'll have the new sensors for your arm next month."

"And Quicksilver was grumpy about getting his ass kicked, so we thought we'd drop in," Mr Stark said.

"Ok," Bucky said. "Why don't you get started with the bag," he suggested to me, so I nodded at the visitors and picked up my gloves, starting with light blows and working up to full strength. Then I added strikes with my feet as well. It was fun. Whenever I needed a little extra motivation, I pictured Trevor's face on the bag.

After a bit, Uncle Bucky joined me at the bag and we continued with some corrections. When I came back from the showers, I saw him talking to a red-haired woman who I recognized as Black Widow. I was meeting more Avengers today than I had in all my life, almost. She watched me as I came over and Bucky introduced me to her.

"The tower's buzzing about you," she said after we shook hands. "Nobody expected James' little dance niece to be any good," she said. Bucky glared at her. "What?" she shrugged. "They just thought you were doting. I could have told them that dancers are strong and agile, but nobody asked."

"Do you miss dancing?" I asked her, and she frowned.

"I don't know," she said slowly. "I think so. I have memories of it, but I don't quite know if they were real or implanted."

Conversational quagmire alert.

"If you go find Emma, she has brownies," my uncle suggested after a moment. "And I'll see you tomorrow."

I seized the opportunity. "Thanks, Uncle Bucky," I said, and kissed his cheek. "Nice to meet you, Ms Romanov." I scarpered out of there and the tower AI said that Aunt Emma was in her office. After a good skritch for both of the dogs, I got a couple of brownies and Aunt Emma shooed me off before I could ask how her day was. I was going to a movie with Aslyn, Rill, and Karen.

The next day it was work as usual, and the Scarlet Witch drifted into the training room while my uncle was on the phone. She was pretty nice, although a little aloof. When Bucky joined us, she was asking if I missed the dancing.

"Yeah, I haven't completely given it up, but doing barre exercises in my bedroom isn't the same as the dance part," I said slowly, then shrugged. "But at least I've picked up a new enthusiasm," I said, and she smiled, excusing herself.

He shook his head. "She's about the only Avenger who I can say really doesn't need to learn hand-to-hand or a weapon," he said, then we got back to work.

The days slid past; it was probably the most fun summer I'd ever had, and it was soon time to go back home for the fair. I'd entered the quilt, and I was curious to see if it won anything. The competition was going to be fierce, so I didn't really have any expectations, but I liked taking part. J was doing half-day practices for the football team, so he met us at the fairgrounds the day we went. My parents and I saw all the stuff he wasn't interested in, so it worked out well for everyone. He caught up with us at lunch and bolted down an astonishing quantity of food. It was kind of horrifying to watch. It was like he was hollow inside. We all got the famous funnel cakes, though. And after that, we went to check on the quilts. I grinned; the quilt had a white ribbon on it, fourth place. My mom was thrilled and my dad took a picture of me standing beside it. After congratulating me by saying he didn't know that my work was that good, J wandered over to a kid he knew from school and I started looking at the other quilts. The blue ribbon went to a white wholecloth quilt with red stitching; there was just enough variation in the stitches that you could tell it was done by hand, and featured a profusion of feathers in the quilting design and a nice balance of flat, closely quilted areas and puffy, unquilted parts for contrast.

"I have to admit that this isn't half bad," a familiar voice said. I turned and looked at Mr Stark. He held up his hands. "I'm not knocking it until I've tried it. And aside from the animals, it's almost interesting."

"Nice," I said. "Did you try the funnel cakes?"

He sighed. "Yes. I have to admit that they were the highlight of the whole affair." I smiled.

And then my dad asked, pointedly, who the strange man bothering his daughter was. He didn't put it quite like that, though.

"That streak of... straightforward speech appears to be a broad family trait," Mr Stark said and I bit my lip.

"This is my tippy-top boss, dad. Mr Stark, this is my dad, Henry Barnes." Dad stared at him with narrowed eyes.

"What brings you so far from the city, Mr Stark?" he asked, not taking his hand. "I hope you're not stalking my daughter."

"Relax, no. I'm no cradle-robber. I heard her and her uncle talking about it and thought I'd check out the whole fair thing."

Oh, shit. I slapped my hand on my forehead. My mom looked between us.

"Her uncle?" my dad said.

"I met Uncle Bucky," I said quietly.

"You did WHAT?" my dad bellowed, and my mom tried to hush him. We were attracting attention. J wandered back over.

"I met Uncle Bucky," I repeated. Then I added, a little nervously, "You never told me I couldn't."

"You did what?" J asked, wide-eyed. "Cool!"

"Perhaps we should continue this at home," my mom said firmly. "Goodbye, Mr Stark," she added, and my dad stomped off, my mom nudging me along.

"Thanks, Mr Stark," I sighed, and let myself be herded off.

At home, there was some yelling. My mom summarized concisely. "That man is a killer," she said firmly. "You're not to see him again."

I stamped down the panic. "He was brainwashed into being a killer," I corrected her, keeping my cool. "Now that he's been fixed, he doesn't do that any more."

It degenerated from there. My parents said immediately that I couldn't go back, that they were pulling me out of school and re-enrolling me at home. J watched and listened to the whole thing silently. "What's he like, A?" he asked during a moment when both parentals were drawing breath.

"He's very quiet," I said. "His wife, Aunt Emma, is more outgoing. She bakes a lot, always has cookies up in her office. He's been very kind to me."

"Does she really have those big dogs?" he asked eagerly, and I nodded.

"They're huge, their heads come up to between my shoulder blades," I told him. "Their fur is so soft, like cat's fur more than a dog. They're really smart. They like me," I said, smirking at him. He rolled his eyes.

"I suppose he's tried to recruit you for the Avengers," my dad said cuttingly.

"No, that was Mr Stark," I tell him. "Uncle Bucky backed me up immediately when I said no."

For some reason that set them off again. "Why'd he ask you?" J asked, unflatteringly.

"Because Mr Stark is weird," I sigh. "I think he was thinking of the next generation of Avengers and that because of Uncle Bucky, I'd be special."

"I bet he was disappointed," J taunted.

"Probably," I said, a little mournfully.

"You are special!" my dad flared up out of habit.

"Dad, come on," I said impatiently. "I'm not even a very successful dancer. I'm just a good student because I really work at it. Come to think of it, you should both be thanking Uncle Bucky. He gave me something else to think about than ballet. Since I realized that there's no point to keeping it up, he's been teaching me boxing. In fact, his first lesson enabled me to get away from the guy who attacked me. I didn't know how to hit before then, and I popped him a good one."

That cut my mom off as she was drawing breath. She looked at me for a moment. "You have put on weight," she said after her scrutiny. "You look healthier."

"You do seem happier," my dad said grudgingly.

"I made my first friend because that guy was taken out of the school," I said. "And she introduced me to her other friends, who go to different schools, so I've met more people. I haven't had any dates since I got there, but at last I have friends now."

"I thought you had friends," my mom said, stricken. "You talked about people you study with."

Both J and rolled our eyes. "That was just study groups," I say. "I study a lot. In fact, Stark Tech has a reimbursement program for college credits related to work, so the guidance counselor said that she'll help me apply for a college class each semester so I can get some credits out of the way." Dad brightened up a bit.

"So did you get your job by yourself or was that something you had help with?" J asked, poking my ribs.

"I think it was initially due to Bucky and Emma," I had to admit, and he smirked. "But Ms Martin says I'm doing a great job!"

"I'm sure you are, honey," my mom sighed.

There was a knock on the door. I hoped it wasn't the neighbor across the street, Mr Evans. He was really nosy, and we'd obviously been fighting when we came home. I got up to open it, and was surprised to see Uncle Bucky and Aunt Emma on the porch. Mr Stark waved from his Ferrari FF like he was photobombing them.

I stepped out and gave him a hug. I've never been so glad to see somebody in my life.

"Is that him?" J asked loudly. I closed my eyes.

"You're so obnoxious," I said jadedly. "Yes, this is Uncle Bucky." Bucky waved with the metal hand. Emma smiled.

From the doorway, my dad said grouchily, "Well, you'd better come in, then."

I could hear my mom telling him chidingly to be nice to his family. For the first time in a couple hours, I smiled.


	6. Family

I tugged Uncle Bucky's arm and drew him into the house, Aunt Emma following. Mom assessed them, Dad's face was guarded, and J looked fascinated. "Mom, Dad, this is Aunt Emma and Uncle Bucky. This is my mom and dad, Rose and Henry. And my little brother Jaimez." It looked like a standoff for a moment, but then my mom stepped forward and put out her hand. Good old mom.

"How do you do." She shakes their hands briskly. "It's a bit of a surprise to meet you. Alixzandrya hadn't mentioned meeting you before." She shoots me a stern look. "And when were you going to tell us, anyway?"

"When I was in college, probably," I muttered, shoving my hands into the pockets of my shorts. Dad rubs his eyes, then comes forward and puts out his hand. Looking from him to Uncle Bucky, there isn't much of a family resemblance past the hair. Then J bounds up. Just like a puppy. Who is trying to be cool about the whole thing. And failing miserably.

And I can admit to myself, but no one else, that I'm a little worried they'll like J better than me. He's more outgoing and fun than I am. It's mean of me, because he deserves to get to know them too, but to be honest, I liked having them to myself, which was selfish.

The parents let J pepper Bucky and Emma with questions for a bit. Bucky looks bemused and Emma unflappable. It seems it would take a lot to get her flapped, but then she's had years of dealing with Mr Stark, so J is probably only a minor nuisance. Then mom cuts in and asks how they met me, and I have to explain how I tracked them down. It was a neat bit of detection, if I do say so myself, and J says that he didn't think I was that clever. I cuff him amiably. Then the parentals take over the questioning. It takes a while, but they seem... ok with it all. The tension is a lot lighter, and while I know I'm not off the hook, at least everyone is pleasant. It's a relief not to have to keep this secret from my family, and Uncle Bucky shouldn't have to feel like he has to be kept a secret. Then mom offers iced tea, and Aunt Emma goes out to help in the kitchen. J stares out the front window.

"Who's that guy out there?" he says, fascinated. It's like he's five again. I look out. Mr Stark is still leaning on the fender of the Ferrari, poking at his phone, which, it must be said, is the coolest phone ever. I've seen him flick images from the screen to 3D projectors in some of the rooms of the tower.

"That's Mr Stark," I say wearily, and Uncle Bucky laughs. I smile at him.

"He's our ride," he says. "He heard that we wanted to see Alex's quilt and insisted on driving us down." My dad stands up and goes out, and we watch as he approaches Mr Stark and this time he puts out his hand, which Mr Stark shakes, so there's no apparent hard feelings. Then mom and Aunt Emma come back with the tea, and I note that there's one for Mr Stark too.

There's some chitchat, and Dad thanks Bucky and Emma for helping me get the job at Stark Tech. "Well, we didn't actually do anything," Uncle Bucky admits, turning his glass in his hands. "Nepotism makes things harder, I think, she'd have to work harder to show that she deserved to be there." Dad looks at his uncle with more approval.

"That was actually me," Stark says, and mom frowns. "I did the hire," he clarified. "She's a smart kid; Carolyn is very pleased with her work." He smirks.

"And yes, I have worked hard to show that I could have gotten the job on my own," I tell my dad. Then I look at Mr Stark, who has a faint kicked-puppy look on his face. "But it was a nice thing for Mr Stark to do." He looks smugger. After a rather awkward pause, conversation resumes and before long, Uncle Bucky shows the parentals a video he took of my dance recital and Mr Stark steps outside to take a call. Aunt Emma starts asking J questions about if he's looking forward to high school and how he likes football practice. J is noncommittal about high school (I think he's a little scared, frankly) but very voluble on football. I hear Bucky telling my parents about how a lot of their interns and lab assistants go to Midtown and says he's proud of my grades. They agree that I did very well, even with the addition of the job at the end of the semester. J sniffs at me and says he could do better if he wanted. This was a tactical mistake.

"That's great, Jaimez!" dad calls from across the room. "Then I expect to see more As on your report card next semester!" J realizes his error quickly and scowls at me, like I had anything to do with it. I smirk at him and Emma grins. In a subtly encouraging way, she asks what he's going to be studying next semester and I tune into Bucky describing our workouts. I can tell that my dad isn't too keen on me learning Systema, but mom looks more thoughtful. She calls me over and asks what happened with Trevor.

"They decided not to prosecute him," I shrug. "He's white, wealthy, a promising athlete, and the DA decided that since he had to transfer to a high school that isn't as good as Midtown that being arrested was enough of a punishment." My dad looks furious. "A lot of people know what he did, though, and Rill, who goes to that school, says that girls don't want to go out with him now, so his social life has justly tanked," I explain. "And he has to live with people knowing that he got beat up by a girl, and they know he was arrested, so he hasn't gotten off scot free." I pause. "But just in case, I like knowing I could do more than just give him raccoon eyes now."

"That's true," Uncle Bucky confirms. "She's not good enough to defeat somebody who's been studying significantly longer, but I've seen her take down a guy who unfortunately dismissed her as a threat." I beam at him.

"Oh?" Dad asks, inviting explanation.

"I was warming up when Pietro Maximoff came in to run on his treadmill," I tell them. "He thought that because I was a dancer, I was a lightweight. So Uncle Bucky invited him to attack me. I put him down both times," I say with satisfaction. Then, to be fair, I have to add that Pietro doesn't actually seem to know how to fight.

"He depends on his speed," Uncle Bucky agrees, "but he asked for training a few days later." He smiles at me. "He's not coming along as fast as you do, but then he's not as gifted or as used to the discipline of learning a physical skill."

"You must be joking," J says to me. "You put down an Avenger? You're not as useless as I thought."

"That's because you don't think, twerp," I say, swatting him, and Mom has to intervene before we get started and embarrass them in front of company. Bucky is grinning and Emma looks a little taken aback, but then she was an only child.

J asks Bucky about his brothers and we listen to a few stories about them. His affection is evident in his tone. Then J asks about Steve Rogers and we hear how Uncle Bucky was continually pulling him out of fights he couldn't win and chasing after him to try to keep him out of trouble. Mom laughs. "These two used to have a game when they were little, it was called, not imaginatively, 'Uncle Bucky and Captain Rogers.'" Both J and I blush. Parents. Sometimes all they're good for is embarrassing you. "They used to fight over who had which role."

Uncle Bucky looks entertained. "Who got to be who?"

Dad laughs. "Alex used to be you; she insisted that Jaimez had to be Captain Rogers because he had the blond hair. Jaimez was frequently pouty about it."

"I wasn't that bad," J mutters, and I mess up his hair. He ducks away. "I wasn't," he insists. "It just would have been fun to be Uncle Bucky now and then." Aunt Emma laughs, she looks charmed by the story, for some reason. Mr Stark comes back in.

"Gotta go," he says, then remembers some manners. "Sorry for barging in on you," he tells my parents. Bucky and Emma rise, and he tells my parents he'll send them the video he took of the recital. The adults do the farewell thing and while they're doing that, J asks Mr Stark what kind of car he's got, and Mr Stark invites him out to look at the Ferrari. I say goodbye to Mr Stark as J chugs out the door and go in for hugs from Bucky and Emma. Then we all accompany them to the curb in time to hear Mr Stark telling J that he doesn't modify his cars. "Voids the warranty," he says. Bucky shakes hands with my parents again, claps J on the shoulder, and begins the delicate process of inserting himself into the back seat of the Ferrari. Mr Stark says goodbye to my parents and J and drops the hood as Aunt Emma issues hugs all around and gets into the front seat, making sure it's up as far as it goes. The engine roars to life, and the car smoothly pulls away. We go back inside, ignoring the neighbors who plainly want the story.

I'm not off the hook yet.

Dad pointedly brings up all the things I glossed over or ignored. "Jeeze, dad, you should have been a lawyer rather than an accountant," I say, squirming, and then, unable to evade anymore, tell them the whole story.

"So why didn't you say you were taking self-defense instead of just boxing?" my mom asks, frowning.

"Because then you'd want to know detail, like how much it was and where I was taking the lessons," I explain.

"Then you'd be busted," J points out helpfully. I bare my teeth at him.

"But honey, what I don't understand is why you wanted to meet him in the first time," my dad said plaintively at last.

"Sam and Mindy are great, they're very nice people," I say, struggling to articulate my reasoning. "But Uncle Bucky is family." I shrugged. "So maybe he would have been a jerk or whatever. But I would have known. I don't ask them for stuff," I hurry to assure my parents. "But I have lunch with them a lot, and Emma almost always has cookies in the tower. They went to my recital, Uncle Bucky trains me--but he offered, I didn't ask, and for my birthday they paid the school fee for the gym class I want to take. I've helped Emma weed the gardens at her house, I visited the dogs while they were out of town once, and I always offer to help clean up after lunch. Sometimes they even let me." The parentals mull this over, and finally my dad sighs.

"I am not pleased that you kept all this a secret," he says. "But I understand why you did."

"So do I have official parental sanction to continue?" I ask, and they both nod.

"It is comforting to know that there's family in case you need them," mom concedes. "Sam and Mindy have been good to you, but they aren't family."

By the time this all has been fixed, it's gotten late, and my brother offers to run to the restaurant to pick up dinner. I love my mom, but she's not a very good cook. Dad drives him over. He's not yet able to get his drivers license, but fourteen and fifteen year olds often drive short distances in our small town, and of course the farm kids have been driving for a lot longer than that, but I think Dad's had it with rule breaking today.

She has questions of her own, and one of them involves an explanation of how I scanned the family documents during my planning phase of the operation and I confess that I took the photo; she just tells me to get a copy made and send it back. She asks more questions, trying to get a better feel for who Bucky and Emma are as people, I think.

"He was appalled to find out that he inspired a tradition of Barneses joining the military," I say, setting the table. "He tried to say if he'd known he wouldn't have gone. Nobody believed that one." I shake my head. "So he knows that George died in the service and Aunt Jenny in Vietnam. He was really not thrilled to hear that J and I had both thought about it."

"Why did you change your mind?" mom asks. "I was just relieved that you did."

"I read the book," I say, placing the napkins carefully. "Then I looked up the casualties for each war. I know dad tried to volunteer during Desert Storm and that's where they found that heart defect with the valve. It struck me as kind of odd that every member of our family who served was struck down."

"I wondered if you'd gotten your hands on the book," she says eventually. "But you were quite sly about it."

"Dad specifically said he didn't want me to read it," I shrug. "I had to be sneaky. I didn't give it to J, though. But everybody was reading all about the Avengers and I didn't want to be left out. And I wanted to find out what happened to Uncle Bucky. Kinda wish I hadn't read that part." Mom smooths my hair and kisses my forehead. "And now, having met him, it is even more upsetting when I think about it. He's a really nice guy."

"It's true that Jenny died in Vietnam," she says, a little off topic. "But she wasn't a nurse." I look at her, puzzled. "That time Dad had that accounting conference in DC? We visited the Vietnam Memorial and looked for her name. It's not there. So your dad started making inquiries. He found out that that yes, she'd been in the Army and yes, she died in Vietnam, but the detail were classified. That's all we know. So I was quite relieved when you moved on from your military phase. I don't know what she got herself into, but it couldn't have been good." She hesitates. "I know that if you really want to, there's nothing your dad or I can say that would prevent you from becoming an Avenger, if it's offered to you in an attractive way. You have a strong streak of public service in you. All I ask is that you don't rush to accept it. If it's made again. And I think it might; that Mr Stark seems pretty persistent."

"I wasn't kidding when I said no," I tell her. "It's really hazardous work, even if the perks are good. I don't want to go out and fight evil, because the people in our family don't seem to be any good at it if you consider the mortality rate. I want to find a different way to help."

She looks really relieved, and I wonder how long she's been carrying around that fear. By the time that J and Dad come back, we've moved on to other topics, including the sightseeing tour I'd taken a couple weeks before. My friends couldn't believe I hadn't hit the tourist spots yet, so they took me all over, including the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. It had been really fun.

Dinner was pretty relaxed, all in all.


	7. School

When I got back to the city, I took the family photograph to a professional and had a restored copy made for me and one for Bucky, and bought nice frames for them. I gave Bucky his the next practice I had. He gave me a hug.

"Sorry I didn't think of it before," I told him and kissed his cheek before going to the treadmill to warm up. He put it prominently on his desk.

I went shopping for school supplies with my friends; I was taking English, Calculus 2, US history, Lifetime Sports, Physics, French 2, a psychology class, and study hall. Thanks to my aunt and uncle, all I needed for gym was a swimsuit and shoes, and we hit Target for pens, pencils, notebooks and binders, new highlighters and colored pencils, mandated stuff to make up for tight school budgets, like reams of printer paper and dry erase markers, and things for our lockers, like kleenexes and hand sanitizer. I got a couple of wire organizers for my locker door and some extras--a small bottle of aspirin, sore throat lozenges. My friends teased me about these; we weren't supposed to have medication or give them to friends, but everybody did it covertly anyway. "Just wait til you need them," I said airily, and Rill and Karen bought their own. Aslyn just said she'd raid my locker. I also needed a better calculator and got some replacement cartridges for my printer at home. Then we went clothes shopping, which was a lot more fun.

We went to Coney Island before school started, and we had a blast. Then it was time to buckle down. We had a new French teacher this year, one of the ones who assigned you a French name. We rolled our eyes, but she also did more with culture, according to the syllabus, which sounded interesting. We also had to speak only in French during class, which sometimes sucked. My English/French dictionary immediately got a workout and class volunteerism took a nosedive. I met with the guidance counselor, who recommended waiting til I was a senior and taking CLEP tests for calculus, French, history and English, since I was in Honors English and history and would probably be able to take AP English in senior year. It would be less expensive than taking classes. If I put extra work in, I could take some SAT tests for science, although she warned me against trying to do too much and not doing well at anything on the tests. Since I also had to take the SATs and ACTs this year, we decided that I shouldn't try to take college classes until next year. I also had to decide where I wanted to go to college and start thinking about getting references lined up for next year.

College was starting to freak me out. I didn't even know what I wanted to study yet. How do you make the best choices if you don't know what you want to major in? Aslyn knew what she wanted to do, Rill was leaning toward finance, and Karen, depending on if she could get a place in a company or not, wanted to do something allied with the arts if she went to college instead. All I could say for sure was that I was pretty certain I wanted to study science.

Fortunately, I had work as a soothing constant. The oldest lab assistant had quit to go to school somewhere outside of the city so we were down to three of us, but all it meant was that I always had work, and I tweaked my habits to maximize my efficiency. I overlapped Thursday with the other two guys, which was a pain because they talked a lot, making it hard to focus. I started making that the day I did most of the glassware since it minimized the time I had to spend in the prep lab. And on the days that I worked, I always had practice with Uncle Bucky and cookies with Aunt Emma to look forward to.

A couple weeks after school started again, my uncle's eyes twinkled when he met me at the door to the training complex and led me over to the wall of mirrors where the weightlifting equipment was. It had been rearranged, and Uncle Bucky hit a switch on the wall. I watched in wonder as the mirrored wall spat out a six foot barre and the rubberized coating on the floor retracted to show a wood floor beneath. "You said you missed dancing," he said gently. I bit my lip to keep from tearing up and gave him a big hug. "Natasha'll also be using it, maybe others if they get interested." Of course, I didn't have any dance things, so I just took off my shoes and socks and took my place at the barre, running through the exercises. My uncle was smiling until he saw my feet.

"Dancer's feet aren't pretty," I said as I plieed. "At least I have all my toenails now." He went a little green, and I didn't have the heart to torment him by telling what they'd looked like when I was dancing seriously. There'd been blisters and corns, inflammation, bruising, calluses, and when the blisters broke, blood that you taped up immediately so it wouldn't stain the satin of your pointe shoes. A couple of us had had stress fractures, but nobody took time away from class for something that minor, and we all just taped up for sprains or strains. After that, I brought my dance shoes and kept them in my locker at the tower; we altered my workouts so that I warmed up and stretched at the barre, followed by some actual dancing, then I changed from the tights and the dance shorts I wore with my T shirt into pants and shoes for Systema and boxing. At the end of the first week, Ms Romanov started showing up when I did and we did our barre work together. She didn't do pointe work anymore, but she showed me floor exercises and combinations that she may or may not remember performing, and I showed her more modern ones that I'd learned. It was fun to dance again, period, and it was interesting to practice with somebody who came from different training. And there was enough wood floor that we could jump.

My second week, Uncle Bucky asked me how school was going as we were drilling. We talked a lot during the drills so I could learn to deal with distractions. I shrugged; French was kind of a slog, my history teacher was hung up on minutia, but we were starting MacBeth in English and we were starting archery the next week in Lifetime Sports.

"I thought you were swimming," my uncle said as I slapped his arm away.

"That was last week and this week. People who didn't know how to swim got some lessons and the rest of us are doing laps. Kinda boring, so I'm looking forward to a new challenge. Nobody I know here has ever used a bow and arrow, so it looks like we'll all be starting out at the bottom. I don't envy the teacher," I said, grunting as I missed a block. "There's about thirty of us." Uncle Bucky winced in sympathy for the coach, then called a halt and went to his desk for something.

"I could show you the basics," a new voice said, and I looked over to see a new guy leaning on the wall, waiting for Natasha (she said I could use her first name.) I recognized Hawkeye, of course. "Doesn't take long to learn the basic mechanics; fine-tuning them is what takes the time."

"I have no idea what I'm doing," I warned him, and he just grinned. So we set up my first lesson for that Saturday morning. For this, I'd get up early. I saw Natasha smile as she headed for the locker room. Hawkeye hit the button to retract the barre and cover the floor again, and Uncle Bucky returned with dull plastic knives and began to instruct me, starting with how to hold it. "Systema started to be developed in the tenth century CE by the Cossacks," he said. "So there's been a lot of time to work out what works best and to incorporate new knowledge and weapons as they came around." He gave me other little history tidbits as we worked, and everything I did with my right hand, he also had me do with my left. This time I had a little homework at the end of the session; breathing exercises and meditation.

That week in school I signed up for SAT and ACT prep classes, and although it was too early to apply for myself, started researching scholarships so I'd be more efficient next year. I also started researching possible majors. My stress level was a good jump up from last year, so I was glad to do the meditation and breathing work that Uncle Bucky assigned. The seniors were deciding where to apply and working on their applications, so they were freaking out already and we hadn't been back in school a month. When I went in to get some calculus help before school, my teacher advised me to take it easy and just focus on the test prep for this year along with my grades. Easier said than done.

We had a club fair during the lunch periods; there had been some major organizing done over the summer and there was a slew of new ones. I signed up for French Club again, and added the science Olympiad club; there was an annual state-wide competition toward the end of spring semester. I skipped things like the model UN club and the mock trial club as well as the origami club and the chess team. The kendo club looked like fun, but I'd rather stick with Systema. The final club I joined was the bhangra club; it's a type of energetic dance from the Punjab region of India and meets once a week before school. I didn't want to do too much; I was working around twenty hours a week and still wanted some time to do things with my friends.

"French club is easy," I told my aunt when I went up for cookies the next day. "We pick a region of France each meeting and then we each research a little bit about the culture and stuff to present at the next meeting. And there's always some sort of associated food." I think about that. "We've had a lot of cheese." She laughed. "I'll have to work more for the science Olympiad, but that sounds like fun. Something to do with all the science classes I've taken."

"How do you like the physics?" she asked, passing the cookies again.

"It's very boring," I said, frowning. "so far we've just had motion--velocity, free fall, just stuff in two dimensions. Even the stuff later in the semester looks tedious, potential and kinetic energy, thermodynamics."

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that," Mr Stark said crisply.

"It is boring," I said crossly. "And I'm stuck with a whole year of it."

He heaved a sigh. "Ok, beginner's physics is a little unchallenging," he admitted. "But when you start to use it, you realize how beautiful and useful it is."

I didn't want to start an argument, so I stayed mulishly silent. "Kids these days," he said to no one in particular, snagged a handful of cookies, and plopped down in the chair. "So what else are you doing this semester?"

"Um, joined the bhangra, French, and science Olympiad clubs, then there's class, work, SAT and ACT prep, and lessons with Uncle Bucky, plus some time with my friends."

"People actually study for the college boards?" he inquired idly.

"Yes, Mr Stark, we do." I tried not to sound resentful about it, but it squashed the conversation flat. After a moment, I pleaded homework and escaped.

I was really glad when it was the weekend and I showed up at the tower for my lesson with Hawkeye. I stopped at the desk and the security guard (Barney didn't work on the weekend) told me to go to subbasement level four, which was new to me. Level four turned out to be a weapons range. The gun range was abandoned and silent, and there was a separate whole room for non-gun weapons; there were a lot of obstacles pushed against one wall that could be positioned for extra challenges. Today, though, there was a target pinned to a round thing that Hawkeye informed me was called an archery butt.

"Shooting all your arrows at the target is called an end," he started. "So your turn at the target is an end. You shoot three arrows, then score where they wind up in the target. The gold ring is ten points, then each ring from there out is one point less. The X in the very center doesn't get you any more points, but if there's a tie, the archer who hits the X the most will win." Then there's range safety to go over, then he hands me a bow of the type he calls a recurve bow due to the shape of the thing, and goes over the parts. It's not that complicated.

"The draw weight on your bow is 20 pounds," he tells me.

"What do Olympians pull--no, wait, draw?"

"Women usually draw between 40-48 pounds, and the men between 45-55," he says.

"Do you use this kind of bow or the other kind?" I ask.

"Both, but I've come around to preferring the recurve over the compound. The arrows don't fly as far, but they pack a punch," he tells me. "It's more technical, plus the recurve is lighter and more maneuverable, easier to sight the target."

"How much do you draw?" I ask, figuring maybe seventy pounds, since he's the world's best archer.

"Two hundred fifty pounds," he says, and smirks as my jaw drops. No wonder he can drop anything.

He has me put a guard on my left forearm and gives me a bright pink shooting glove that fits over my three middle fingers on my right hand. That's it for equipment, and he puts a floor quiver with three arrows in it on the ground. "Never draw a bowstring unless there's an arrow on it," he tells me briskly, and explains how to look at the feathers on the arrow (the fletching) to see if it's on the string correctly. "If you put it on wrong, you'll rip the fletching off. You're going to be shooting at about fifteen meters from the target, so the arrow will still fly ok, but then I'd have to fix it." He shows me the shooting stance, has me nock an arrow, checks it, then has me draw the bowstring.

"For a beginner at this distance, put your first two fingers under the arrow," he tells me. "You don't need to be putting one above the arrow under these conditions, and the draw isn't heavy enough to need all three fingers on the bowstring. Hold the bow a little farther away, or the bowstring will hit your boob, and I'm told that hurts." I quickly adjust. "Draw back so that your pointer finger is at the corner of your mouth and keep your arm level. Good. Now release the bowstring." I feel pain on the inside of my left arm and the arrow hits the white part of the target.

"Not bad," Hawkeye says, and looks at my arm. The string hit where my guard was not, and he has me put down the bow, gives me a circle of exercise tubing and has me draw that back, showing how to keep my bow arm in a more neutral position and how to squeeze my right shoulder blade when drawing back. "If it's all in the shoulder, you're going to end up with a rotator cuff injury," he said. We work on mechanics a bit more, then he has me pick up the bow and we work on aim and the difference between precise and accurate.

He takes my bow and effortlessly groups three arrows in the outer blue ring. "That's precise, because the arrows are grouped closely together, but not accurate because they're not at the center of the target," he points out, then fires three arrows that hit in different places all around the gold rings. "That's accurate, because all the arrows are in the bullseye, but not precise because the grouping isn't tight," he says, and the third volley of arrows is all over the place. "Low accuracy, low precision." The final flight is bunched over the X in the center. "High accuracy and precision."

By the time an hour is up, my back muscles are starting to feel the strain; archery is very different from either dance or Systema, but at least I'm hitting the target each time, and Hawkeye says I'm doing well. "I'm not a mutant," he says as we go to retrieve my last arrows. "I had to start like this too." I find that encouraging, and he tells me to stop by the next time I'm in the tower after class and tell him how it went. I thank him for the lesson, and he shoos me off.

I'm going to a movie tonight with my friends, so the rest of the day is a study day. Then work the next day, and on Monday I'm excited for gym class. Because archery isn't a sweaty sport, we don't have to dress down for it, another plus, and there are ten archery butts set up outside and we're assigned three to a butt. Then there's a safety lecture, which is not as comprehensive as Hawkeye's but should keep us from getting shot accidentally, and there's only six of us with any experience when Coach asks. He rearranges our groups so that the six of us are on the two farthest butts, and watching my classmates fumble through their initial end, I'm glad to be with others who have some practice. We're told to keep score, and at the end of class, after five ends apiece I have the best score in the class. It's a novel experience. I'm good at a lot of things but I've never been the best at anything. And this may be a diddly little thing overall, and only for one day, but the feeling is amazing. I even got three arrows in the gold rings.

I worked Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Sundays, so after school, Aslyn and I walked to the tower together (We both worked Monday and Tuesday) and after dropping my stuff in the prep lab, I went downstairs after the AI said that Hawkeye was on the range. He had moving obstacles set up with miniscule targets, and he was in with another archer, a young woman who easily kept up with him. She saw me and pointed me out, and activity was halted as he waved me in.

"How'd it go today?" he asked, the woman listening too.

"We sucked, but I was the best of the suckers," I said. "Thanks to your coaching." He had me tell him my score for each end, and nodded.  
"That's not bad," he said, and the woman smiled.

"Have you just started?" she asked.

"It's a unit in my gym class," I told her. "Two weeks, then we get to move on to bowling." She laughed, but it's not mean or anything.

"If you can come in Wednesday after school, I could help you," she offered, to my surprise, and I took her up on the offer. Then I've got to get to work.


	8. Accidents

I waited for Wednesday impatiently. I knew who the woman Hawkeye had been practicing with was, she was an expert archer herself and had been recruited to fill in on the Avengers for a time when Mr Barton had been dead for a bit. She told me I could call her Kate, which was nice because "New Hawkeye" was a bit cumbersome. She was maintaining a secret identity, so I wasn't sure if Kate was her actual name, but I kind of thought it was. She wasn't as patient as Mr Barton, but she was still a good teacher and had me focus on refinements to my technique, especially the release, where the bowstring is just supposed to roll off your fingertips, and how I held the bow: clenching the handle in a death grip negatively affects your aiming. She gave me a finger sling and told me that for target shooters, the bow should practically jump out of your hand when the arrow is released. Just addressing these two issues took the whole practice, but my accuracy had improved a lot and Kate said that precision comes with practice. I felt like I'd accomplished a lot after the training, and my scores the next day jumped a lot: 26, 24, 25, 28, 29, 28. Each end scored a maximum of 30, so I had improved. Substantially. I was really liking being the best at something, even if it was just a unit in gym. I left a note for Kate thanking her for the help and reporting my scores.

I was sorry to end archery; bowling was fun but it didn't seem as interesting to me. But at the end of the archery unit, Coach told me that he was impressed and urged me to continue on my own, telling me how to get involved in archery competitions on the state level and giving me a list of area archery ranges. After bowling, we moved into volleyball, barf. And basketball was scheduled after that, so yuck for a month. I wasn't very good with team sports.

At work, I kept my head down and focused on my tasks, always tweaking my habits for better efficiency since the other two assistants seemed to be slacking. There was more in the work queue, anyway.

Toward the end of September, I'd finished with the glassware and reluctantly pulled up the next few solutions to be made from the queue, notating the necessary solutes and solvents and the quantities, then pushed my cart into the storeroom. Jeff and Rick were in there too, but they were animatedly discussing a football game they'd seen. I went about my business, first stopping by the solvents, then stopping by the organics storage. I left my cart back a couple paces so I wasn't bumping into it.

It was my undoing. Rick pretended to drop back to make a pass and hit the cart, which rammed into me. I staggered a couple of steps, unable to keep my balance, and slammed into the shelving. My ankle turned and I went down, the shelving unit rocking forward and spilling some of the jars. Some of them broke and I was splashed with the solvents as the cart overturned as Rick accidentally tipped it over. And for the finale, the cord ripped out of a temporary light source; the electricians were working on improving the lighting for us and had left spotlights clipped here and there. The cord had ripped out of one and the live end dropped into the solvent mess. God, that hurt. I managed to jerk myself out of the liquid and managed to get to my feet. I was starting to feel burning and ignored the boys in favor of getting to the emergency shower in the prep room. I stripped off my clothes in a hurry and only then noted the lack of a privacy curtain. I hoped Rick the dick and his buddy stayed in the storeroom, but then forgot about them as the water hit me and I tried to keep my eyes open in the spray. Somewhere along the way my safety glasses had fallen off and stuff had splashed by my eyes. I was doing ok until I felt something slither down my back. I looked down at the drain through my swelling eyes and saw a chunk of my hair.

That's when I started to freak out. And my eyes might be irritated, but the tear ducts still worked fine.

Then the door burst open and people from the clinic swarmed into the prep lab. They washed me off with a thick soap and used a neutralizing solution, then quickly patted me dry, stuck a hospital gown on me, and sat me in a wheelchair, and I was run to the elevator, which had stayed open, and we went down to the clinic.

Down in the emergency section, there was a swarm of activity to make sure that the chemicals were off my skin, an x ray was taken of my ankle, and my eyes were treated and tested to see if there was damage, but whatever had splashed into them didn't seem to have done anything except irritate them. They were puffy and swollen almost shut, though. Then they put me in a room and told to rest for a bit. I was shaking and had to pee, so I thought I'd take care of business first, then warm up. I wish I hadn't, when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror when washing my hands. I screamed at my reflection. I looked worse than Regan after she was possessed in The Exorcist, except she had better hair.

The door opened suddenly and I was hugged gently to a white shirt front. I couldn't help it, I felt really traumatized and started to cry. I was so glad my uncle was there. But then I heard Aunt Emma and Uncle Bucky in the hall, so who was this? I jerked back a little and found that I'd been crying all over Mr Stark. Lucky for his white shirt that all my makeup had been washed off. He didn't say a word, just carefully urged me back to the bed and brought over a box of tissues and the trash can. I edged back into bed, and he pulled the blanket up, then draped his suitcoat over me to help me warm up.

Then my aunt and uncle stomped into the room before I could do anything more than thank Mr Stark. My aunt accosted Mr Stark and demanded answers. Uncle Bucky drew up a chair on the other side of the bed and picked up my hand. When I squinted, I could see him wince as he looked at me. I didn't blame him.

Mr Stark held up his hands to stop Emma. "The two boys are being held by security until the police come by. I had a copy of the recordings in the storeroom made for them. What happened was that Alex was getting ready to make some solutions, the boys were goofing around, in direct contradiction to the lab safety rules, and Alex was pushed into the chemical storage. You can see it all later," he said impatiently. "She did the right thing in getting to the emergency shower, and here we are, waiting for the doctors."

"I want those kids prosecuted to the fullest extent," Aunt Emma snapped, then exited the room, coming back in with another blanket that she draped over me carefully, then went into the bathroom and came back with a towel that she started to use on my hair, what was left of it anyway. I was too afraid to really look. "We'll get this trimmed up," she said encouragingly. "And it'll grow back." Mr Stark brought in a couple more chairs.

Before too long, the doctors were back and began discussing the results of their examinations. "Alex, you have a sprained ankle and a partial fracture of your right fibia, the small bone on the outside of your leg. It doesn't go through the bone completely, which is good news." He looked puzzled. "But we did see a couple of stress fractures that have healed in your foot."

"I u-used to be a ballet dancer," I said still shivering a bit. His face cleared up.

"I've heard that dancers mangle their feet," he said, more to himself. "Your eyes appear to be fine, there are some chemical burns on your skin. Fortunately, we have a device that can accelerate healing of tissues and we will use this on your skin, especially that cut on your cheek. We won't even have to stitch it, and it should heal without scarring," he assured me. "And finally, you have a burn from the electrical shock on your leg, where the current entered your body, and on your hand, where it discharged, but you were lucky and there doesn't appear to be damage to muscle, including your heart." I nodded, not knowing what else to do. The adults looked pissed. "So here's what's going to happen," the doctor said to me. "We're going to go put a cast on your leg to protect it and prevent the fracture from completing. Then we'll take you into the tissue accelerator. I think a couple of sessions, one tonight, the other tomorrow morning, will take care of it. And we'll give you some pain medication and some things to help your eyes, including a cold pack for the swelling. You'll be staying here overnight and we'll reevaluate you in the morning. Any questions?" I thought about it and shook my head. Now that I was calmer a little, I was noticing how much I hurt in general.

"Can I get my phone?" I asked the room in general. "I need to call Sam and Mindy and my parents." I sighed.

"I'll take care of that," Emma said, and a nurse came in with the wheelchair. I don't know what the fuss was about my leg, it didn't hurt that much. I got a pretty turquoise cast, then was wheeled in for the tissue thingie. It consisted of a rectangular instrument that was positioned over the treatment area. It made a slight buzzing sound when it was operating and it made my skin itch, but it was pretty boring. I wished I had a book. I was feeling tired when they gave me some pills to take and wheeled me back to the room. They put me back into the bed and Uncle Bucky pulled up a comforter.

"Brought this down from my room upstairs, sweetie" he said, brushing hair off my face. Apparently now I had bangs. "I hate being cold." Aunt Emma grinned at him. 

"I called your host family, Alex," Mr Stark said. "I explained the situation, so while they're concerned, they're fully informed."

"I called your folks," Aunt Emma told me. "They're coming down tomorrow." I winced. The nurse came in with the promised cold pack for my eyes and adjusted the bed so I wouldn't have to hold the pack on my face. "It'll be ok," she said, patting my shoulder. "We'll be back tomorrow morning. Get some rest."

I must have been running on adrenaline, because shortly after they left, murmuring among themselves, I crashed. Apparently I slept through the first time the nurse checked in on me and removed the cold pack, but I woke up for the next ones. I was still pretty tired when the doctor came by in the morning. He ordered another round with the tissue accelerator, then I was allowed to take a shower. They had a plastic bag with a seal so I wouldn't destroy my cast. Today my reflection didn't make me want to scream; there was some redness where there had been chemical burns, but they looked more like I was building up to a major breakout. I thought some powder would kind of even things out, since I was warned not to use foundation or heavy makeup until the tissues were all healed.

The hair was still a horror show, though. That was the most depressing thing. I loved my hair; it was thick and dark and pretty. Usually.

Somebody had gone and picked up some clothes for me. My favorite jeans, soft and worn, a t shirt and hoody, and a shoe for my left foot. I felt better after brushing my teeth, Uncle Bucky arrived just in time to handle the discharge paperwork and save me from a hospital breakfast. We went upstairs and had just sat down to a hearty breakfast when the AI announced that my parents and J had arrived. Mr Stark went down with Uncle Bucky. I toyed with my pancakes, which didn't look as appetizing now. When everybody came upstairs, mom and dad gave me hard hugs. J just looked at my hair and shook his head. I resisted the urge to retaliate. They'd eaten on the road, but my parents accepted coffee and J had second breakfast, like a hobbit.

Then it was the time of explanations. I said what had happened, without embellishment, then Mr Stark told them what he had done: fired them on the spot and called the cops; this morning he'd told the heads of the labs, including Ms Martin, to reassess the safety protocols, and ordered an investigation of why the storage cabinet had tipped. It was supposed to be bolted to the wall. He'd also reviewed the footage for himself, praising my response to my parents. "Of course, her medical expenses are covered because they happened in my lab," he told them. "This will include rechecks since the docs want to be sure she heals right, and then there's her ankle to monitor." He drew a deep breath. "I understand that this is very upsetting for you and your daughter. You may want her to quit her job, which is of course up to you, but I would like to say that in the short time she's been here, she's become our most valued student employee. I would like to offer to transfer her to another position in any other department in the tower." My mom sighed. Mr Stark looked at me. "Carolyn would like to speak with you today if you're up to it," he said, and I recognized the cue for the adults-only talk.

"You want to come with, J?" I asked. It was time to trade sibling intelligence. I grabbed my crutches and we went down to the lab. Ms Martin wanted to see for herself that I was ok and ask what I wanted to do now. After I told her that my parents were up with Mr Stark right now talking about that, she nodded and changed the topic, talking to J so that he didn't feel like an afterthought or tag-along. At the end of the meeting, she said that the boys had been on probation before the accident since they'd slacked off so much on their work and that she really appreciated how hard I'd worked.

"I understand that you might not have wanted to complain about your workload, but it's not your responsibility to pick up all of the slack. No matter where you go in Stark Tech, if you stay, let your supervisor know if something like that happens again," she encouraged me. "It shouldn't; I don't know what went wrong with those kids. They started out as good lab assistants. We've never had something like this happen, and I've been here close to twenty years. I want to reassure you that some policies will be changing; no more than one student employee in the stock room at a time unless accompanied by a senior chemist. I've really enjoyed having you working in our lab," she said, and showed us back to the elevator. When the doors closed, J got a text from Aunt Emma, saying that they were still talking.

"You want to look around, J?" I asked, and he agreed, looking curious. I didn't want to abuse my privilege, so we went down to Uncle Bucky's domain, currently deserted, then up to the stores. There was a sporting goods store, and I nudged him toward it; he had a birthday in October and I wanted ideas. Then we got the all-clear to go back.

"You ok?" I asked in the elevator.

"Yeah, it's nice to have a day off from school," he said, darting a grin at me. "But next time, maybe not do the death-defying thing, ok?"

"It wasn't that bad," I objected.

"That's not what the doctor said last night," was all he said, then the doors opened. Mom and dad had red eyes, Uncle Bucky looked grim, and Aunt Emma and Mr Stark were not at ease, but not tense. When we sat down again, Dad said that I could choose whether I wanted to work there still, but that if I wanted to stay, he'd take it as a personal favor if I would switch to a different lab.

"Take your time deciding," Mr Stark said. "I don't need an answer today. When you decide, then we can discuss where you want to work." I had to grin at his assumption that I'd still want to work for him. He was right, but I didn't want to say that just now.

"Let's go get your hair cut," Aunt Emma said to me. "Your parents want to talk to Sam and Mindy. They called the school today to let them know you were in an accident, and they said that if your parents were going to be in town, they'd be welcome to stop by and meet at least some of your teachers. Apparently teacher conferences are coming up soon?"

I nodded. "Usually Mindy goes."

"Ok," she said. "And Jaimez, you could go with me and your sister, with your parents, or you could stay here with your uncle."

Uncle Bucky smiled at him, and J promptly decided to stay. I thanked Mr Stark, then Aunt Emma gave me my coat and purse--she'd brought my stuff up from the lab last night, and we departed for her stylist.

I thought the man was going to pass out when he saw the state of my hair, but he rose to the occasion and by the time the last spritz of hair spray had been applied, my hair was a little shorter than shoulder length and had clever layers cut into it to minimize the damage. And yeah, I did have to have bangs. It looked really nice, so much better than I'd feared. I felt kind of shallow, worrying about my hair so much, but appearances matter, especially in high school.

We drove to Sam and Mindy's; my parents were still there, but the atmosphere was amicable. I got hugs from both Sam and Mindy, and my mom said my hair looked lovely. It was a big change for me to have abandoned my almost waist-length hair. I went to my room for a nap, the parents left for Midtown, Emma went back to the tower, and Sam and Mindy went back to work. I had strict instructions to call if I needed anything, but all I wanted was to get some sleep, uninterrupted by the nurses.

When I woke up, I had some texts from Aslyn to answer about why I'd skipped school, then took some time to appreciate the privacy of the empty apartment for a moment. I felt myself relaxing for the first time since the accident, it seemed. There had been a lot of upset and I wished I could work out to relieve the tension, but that was out of the question for a bit. But I cheered up, realizing that I was going to get to skip the basketball unit in gym. Silver lining.


	9. Routine

Mom and Dad were able to meet about half of my teachers, and apparently the meetings went well; Dad said they spoke highly of me, which is so much better than the opposite. They went home the next day and I went back to school.

I'd been busy with texts from Aslyn, who was at work, and phone calls from Rill and Karen the night before, so they all knew to expect a new hair style; Aslyn snapped a pic at lunch and sent it on. I got a lot of complements from classmates. "My head feels about five pounds lighter," I said to Aslyn.

"It looks pretty," she said, fingering the ends of the cut. "But it's such a big change. Are you going to grow it back out?"

I considered this. "Not as long as it was," I said. "But longer, yeah. I don't really like all the layers and it practically feels like a crew cut." She laughed.

"So you were pretty noncommittal," she said after a pause. "But if your hair is like this, then the accident had to be more serious than you said."

"It scared the crap out of me," I said frankly. "But once they got all the chemicals neutralized and washed off, it wasn't that bad." So I lied.

"What are you going to do now?" she asked. "Are your parents going to let you still work there?"

"Yeah, I'll be put into a different lab, though. I feel sorry for the chemists. They're down to zero lab assistants. I have to go to the tower every day for a couple of weeks, though. The medical staff want to monitor me to make sure I'm ok."

"That's a downer," she said. "Are the doctors cute?"

"Fortunately, not that I saw." She looked at me in curiosity. "Can you imagine getting in-depth exams or treatment from a hot guy?" I asked. "Plus, I'm the idiot who tipped a cabinet of chemicals onto herself. Yay me."

"I see your point. Well, we can walk over together, then," she said placidly.

"It's going to take me longer because of the crutches," I warned her.

"Word got around about the accident, not who was involved or anything, just that there'd been a serious accident and yesterday there were additional safety regulations. Don't apply to me, though, the most hazardous duty I have is turning my computer on and off." I laughed. 

It wasn't far to the tower, but it seemed longer on crutches, even with Aslyn carrying my messenger bag. I was tired when we made it to the lobby. Barney waved me over, so Aslyn gave me a hug and returned my messenger bag before going up to her work station. "Mr Stark wanted to be alerted when you came in," Barney said. He looked sympathetic. "Do you need some help up to the clinic?"

"No, thanks, it's not far now," I said. "Could you see if Emma or Bucky is available, though?" I couldn't remember if Barney knew that they were my aunt and uncle. He nodded and got on the phone as I crutched toward the elevator. I didn't have time to relax before the elevator was at the clinic floor. I settled gingerly on the arm of the waiting room sofa to wait my turn and sighed. I was glad I didn't have to work today.

Mr Stark strolled in and observed me. "You look tired."

"It's a longer walk from school on these crutches. I wish I had just a walking cast."

He frowned. "I'll send a car to pick you up after school for your checkups."

I tried to fend him off. "I'll get used to it. It's my first time on crutches, is all."

"But you had stress fractures in your foot," he said, puzzled.

"Nobody bothered with those," I smiled.

"I would," he muttered. I grinned.

"You're not a dancer."

"Dancers are weird," he muttered, and I shrugged in amusement. Couldn't argue with that. "Well, come up to my office when they turn you loose," he commanded, and I nodded. Uncle Bucky came into the clinic then and accompanied me back. He waited in the doctor's office while I got an examination; they also drew my blood and took a tissue sample.

"You've got to be careful not to overdo," the doctor cautioned me. "The accident put a serious strain on your body, even if you're feeling better now. And use of the tissue accelerator also requires some recovery time."

"I'm getting out of gym," I volunteered sunnily. "They're playing basketball." The doctor looked amused.

"But how's she doing?" Uncle Bucky pressed.

"She's looking good in terms of the accident," the doctor allowed. "We're doing lab tests on the blood; there were slightly elevated levels of enzymes and products that indicated some damage from the electrical burn. This is to be expected at the time of the damage and as it heals, but we need to stay on top of it to make sure the damage isn't more extensive than we think." Then he sighed. "We're taking tissue samples to do genetic analysis on you, Alex. If there's any mutation, we want to be aware of that. It takes quite a lot of time, though significantly less than it did even a few years ago, to do the genetic sequencing we need. We won't have the first results for another six to eight weeks, and so on after that. We're checking a few thousand sites across the alleles, looking for any alterations in the genes. Frankly, I'm not expecting wide-spread changes if any; mutations are pretty common, but hero-level mutations are not," he said, looking at me to see if I was going to be upset, I guess.

Uncle Bucky frowned. "What do you mean, mutations are common?"

The doctor nodded. "Eye color is the most common one," he said. " Brown is the standard issue in humans, actually, and blue is the most common mutation. But multiple colors in the iris, called heterochromia iridum, is a more rare and often quite beautiful mutation. Red hair is another, as are freckles, cleft chins, and no wisdom teeth." Uncle Bucky looked enlightened. "So it's unlikely that you'll sustain any major mutations. Your great uncle shows that in your family there may be a predisposition, a certain malleability, an ability to accept mutations more easily, given how well he responded to the HYDRA treatments," he nodded respectfully to Bucky, "but there are several generations between you, you're descended from a brother, and there has been new genetic material added with each generation." I think both Bucky and I were relieved. "This is more of a precaution than anything else, and it also affords us a rare opportunity to look at the genetic differences in a family. It will help us figure out where his mutations are specifically. If we'd had that kind of information when Captain Rogers' serum enhancements started to fail, the outcome might have been a good deal less traumatic."

Uncle Bucky absently took charge of my messenger bag and accompanied me upstairs to Mr Stark; the AI said he was in his lab, where I'd never been. When we got there, Aunt Emma had beaten us there, but she had cookies. Well, actually, they were little squares of a type of cake, coated with fluffy buttercream and rolled in peanuts. "Are you sure you didn't get some sort of baking enhancement?" I asked, licking my fingers. "Because these are amazing." She laughed indulgently.

"The doctor was talking about mutations down there," Bucky told his wife. Both she and Mr Stark looked enlightened.

"What do they think?" she asked casually.

"That the odds are against me having what he called a hero-level mutation," I said, biting into another peanut thing.

"And what do you think about that?" Mr Stark asked.

"Doesn't upset me," I said truthfully. "Although I have to admit, a healing factor like Uncle Bucky's would be really nice. This broken leg thing is a pain." Mr Stark smirked.

"So when do you want to return to work?" he asked me.

Aunt Emma started to nibble some peanuts that had fallen off her piece. "Or do you want to come back to work here? I can get you an interview at Wayne Enterprises if you'd prefer something different. Bruce is very interested in meeting you." Mr Stark huffed in shocked betrayal, but Emma just smiled serenely.

"Wayne is a pretty cold fish," Stark said immediately. "And his little set up is a lot farther away from your school." He turned to Emma. "He doesn't usually employ high school students."

She grinned. "He's willing to make an exception for Alex, seeing as how she's my niece, but it would be only a guaranteed interview," she warned me.

Why Emma was prodding Mr Stark, I didn't care to know. "I think I'd rather stay here," I said. "It's convenient to school and one of my friends works here too." Mr Stark smirked obnoxiously. "But in case I have some sort of trauma, is there an expiration date on Mr Wayne's offer?"

Uncle Bucky grinned as the smirk slid off Mr Stark's face. "No, I don't think so, Alex," she said innocently.

"So," Mr Stark said briskly. "Since your parents asked you not to go back to the chem lab, you have other options. You could work in the biology lab, physics, there's room in IT, the business side of things, legal...." To be honest, the options didn't sound too exciting. "...Or, you could work as my lab assistant here." Aunt Emma blinked, and Uncle Bucky looked around as if expecting a new and menacing threat to come bursting through the walls. "It's mostly engineering, but there have been occasional times when I've dabbled in other things." 

"No more sentient robots if she's going to be up here," Bucky snapped.

Mr Stark rolled his eyes impatiently. "Yes, I have learned my lesson," he bit off. "Plus, Banner is gone and I really relied on his expertise for Ultron." Emma sighed and picked up another cake thing. "Besides, I just demanded that my department heads ramped up the safety protocols for the interns, so I can't very well exempt myself." I nodded at that and Bucky relaxed some. "And if this doesn't work out, I'll find you another placement," he added with finality.

"OK," I said after a second. Mr Stark smiled and although Bucky looked a little suspicious, Emma smiled.

"You're just hoping that there will be more cookies if Alex works with you," she said with amusement. Mr Stark looked innocent.

"When were you working?" he asked me, and nodded thoughtfully when I told him that it was Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays after school and Sundays. "That should work. I may not always be in the lab on Sunday, but I'll leave you tasks if that's going to be the case. The doctors want to look at you every day for two weeks, then once a week for a couple months, so I'll send a car to pick you up until your leg heals."

"I can come pick you up, sweetie," my uncle said. "And your friend, on the days that you walk together." He squeezed my hand.

"Thank you," I said, snuggling up to him and putting my head on his shoulder.

"I should have thought about that today," he said, apologizing.

"Hope it's not Alzheimers," Mr Stark poked at him, and my uncle just looked at the ceiling.

"We'll start next week," Mr Stark said to me, and I nodded. "You need to rest a bit first." Then he shooed us out and after a hug, Emma went back to her lab. Uncle Bucky took me downstairs and had me lift weights and stretch since I couldn't do anything more fun. It was nice to have some physical activity that I could do that didn't involve crutches. Afterward, he took me out to the garage and directed me to a Mercedes SL Roadster. It had pretty black metallic paint and beautiful red and black leather upholstery. I sniffed discreetly as my uncle closed the door for me. I love the smell of leather. He smiled in satisfaction as he slid in behind the wheel. He grinned at me and hit a button for a massage feature on my seat.

"I may never want to get out of the car," I said in pleasure.

"It's kind of ridiculous, the features in cars these days," my uncle said happily, "but they're really fun."

"I couldn't agree more," I said, investigating the sound system.

A pattern was quickly established; Emma came to pick me up on days when I would go over with Aslyn, and either Uncle Bucky or sometimes Mr Stark would pick me up on days when I was by myself. Karen supposed that it was an inducement to keep my parents from suing, and the others thought this was reasonable so I didn't have to go into details. My blood returned to normal, to the relief of the doctors. Or, as the doctor I saw the most put it, my blood returned to normal at the current rates of detection and for what was being tested. I'd have been worried, but he was the type to qualify everything he said so that nobody would think he wasn't being specific.

Monday I started to work for Mr Stark. I'd been a little worried, second-guessing my impulsive decision to work directly for him in his personal lab, but my first couple of weeks were spent inventorying everything ; I drew little diagrams of each area in the lab and noted what could be found there. Then he gave me a box of stuff, mostly mementos, and told me to find some place to put it all. "Surprise me," were his specific instructions, so I made kind of a game of putting them in unexpected places. They were mostly photographs, so I put the photograph of his mom in a prominent place on his desk and the rest carefully placed in drawers or cabinets. When he came into the lab, he always greeted his bots by name (which was nice, but the names were kind of mean) so whenever he spoke nicely to Dum-E, that bot would display one of three pictures. Mr Stark was surprised the first time it happened, then took to hunting down the rest of the items. He seemed to enjoy it; at least, he didn't alter the arrangement any. Then he had me start to study Dum-E as an intro to robotics. Then he gave me a text on the subject since he was going to build another bot and wanted my help. It would have been a lot faster to do it himself, but somewhat surprisingly, he was really patient with me.

At the end of October, I was able to get my cast off. Finally. It happened on Halloween, actually, so afterward, I went home to shave my leg and get dressed for a party. First I called J, though; it was his birthday and I kind of hated to miss it. Mom had made a chocolate sour cream cake with fluffy seven minute icing, which I really hated to miss. He thanked me for the present I'd sent, a pair of cleats for football and I got caught up in what was going on at the high school. Then I got into my costume and met the girls for dinner.

Rill looked at my plain black blouse and skirt, my skin made paler with makeup, powdered hair, and the two gold medallions around my neck and asked who I was. "Marie Curie," I said smartly. I winked at them. "I glow in the dark, too." I'd gotten some makeup that did just that, including my fingernail polish. They burst in to laughter. The party was at a friend of Rill, and apparently the tradition was that costumes had to be clever rather than sexy or scary. Aslyn had a sandwich board that had the Pintrest logo on it and pictures of cool costumes. Rill, kind of embarrassed at the fangirl moment, was dressed as a genderswapped Captain America. She had a purse that looked like the famous shield. She played field hockey, so she was tough too. Karen wore a jumpsuit that was painted to look like the patient in the game "Operation" and even had a little buzzer that sounded if you pressed one of the 'ailments'. We had a good time at the party, even though guys pressed Karen's ailments too much.

Uncle Bucky consulted with the physical therapist and took over the rehab for my leg. Fortunately, we had a couple weeks at a rifle range to learn target shooting, so I didn't miss anything fun. Then I could go back to Sytema and boxing. I'd lost a little speed, but overall I was in good shape.

The week before Thanksgiving, which I was going to spend with my aunt and uncle, I was shown into the doctor's office when I went to have my weekly tissue sample collected.


	10. Results

I sat down cautiously. "Do you want to call your uncle or aunt?" Dr Mackenzie asked.

"Uncle Bucky's teaching," I said. "Aunt Emma's upstate talking to the X-Men about something or other. You might as well just tell me."

"Ok," he said, and tapped at his computer. He didn't seem freaked out, so perhaps this wasn't going to be terrible.

He turned the monitor so we could both see. There were twenty images in two rows. "So what happens in DNA testing is that the sample is purified, amplified, chopped up into bits, and separated in a gel matrix, which is then stained and produces the patterns that you see of the black bands in a column. This is the first of four of these samples that I'd like to show you." I leaned closer.

"It looks like there's some...migration," I say apprehensively. Dr Mac nodded.

"Exactly. The first fourteen of these gels are the samples taken the night of the accident and the two weeks following. You can see that it's only on day thirteen that there's any differential. Then the remaining six are the ones done weekly since then. You can see that there's more decided movement in the later gels." He clicked the mouse and a new screen appeared. "Here we're seeing differences at week five. And here," he clicked again "week eight. The final one here shows movement at week ten. Now, I know I told you that each of the tests would take about eight weeks, but as we started to see the genetic drift, we prioritized the analyses of your samples. We have seen one case where the drift began but reverted to the pre-exposure pattern, and we wanted to make sure that reversion wasn't going to happen here."

"So what does this mean?" I asked, trying not to be too tense.

"Well, we're not sure yet," he said, not at all comfortingly. "What I do know is that three of these changes are occurring in regions known to produce physical changes. Your changes are occurring fairly slowly, which is good. The changes are in your genotype, definitely, but they're not in areas necessarily known to express in the phenotype."

I think about that, recalling freshman year bio. "So I'm not likely to sprout horns or green fur?"

Dr Mac smiled. "It's unlikely, based on what we're seeing here. Unfortunately, we don't have a huge data base of gels and abilities, so what I can say is fairly limited. Three of the areas we're studying are related to physical change. One is mental. We can't tell how strong these mutations will prove to be. They can range from very strong to unnoticeable. And we can't tell specifically what their effects will be, assuming that they will express themselves."

"So...mental changes?"

"Yes. They're what people commonly think about, like telekinesis, mental communication, that kind of thing. Your aunt has a very strong mental mutation: she has--er...she had---these organelles that allowed her to see microscopically. This is the really cool part. Although she can see atomic particles, that turns out to be a projection of a mental power rather than actual sight. Her eyes are quite exceptional, but they physically can't see down to the atomic level, they just don't have that capability. However, her brain can somehow generate images of atoms and molecules that her brain interprets as seeing, and her mutation also allows her to 'push' them using the force of her will. Very interesting. Umm.. or they were, before they went away." I smiled; I knew that Emma had somehow come up with a work around for plausible deniability regarding the existence of her powers, and it was kind of fun to see Dr Mac tap dancing around it. Obviously other people knew that it was just a smokescreen. "Now, your uncle's mutations are still rare, but we see increased strength, endurance, and dexterity more commonly among mutations. Unfortunately, as I say, we simply don't have enough data yet to predict what specific ability will result from mutation of specific sequences of DNA. We have an idea whether they will be physical or mental, and whether they'll express phenotypically, but not what someone will end up showing or the strength of the mutation. So we want to continue to take weekly tissue samples until the changes have stopped for at least a month. And if you notice anything different about how your body or mind works, contact the clinic immediately. We have people on staff around the clock, every day of the year, so even if it's three in the morning, somebody will be available to counsel you and take the information."

"Ok," I said cautiously. I'd put the clinic number in my phone, just in case.

"And there's one more thing," Dr Mac said. He still didn't seem upset, though. "We know what chemicals you came into contact with because of the labels on the storage jars. What we don't know is how they were combined, and there were three different solvents on your cart that further complicates things. And then there was the electrocution. We've never had the opportunity to study how the addition of current could affect a mutation-inducing incident. It might be that there was no effect, that it simply caused burns and some damage. Or it might have been a catalyst for change somehow. We may never know the full story of what created your mutations, but I wanted to let you know that we're examining all the possibilities." He studied me. "And there is one more thing, the final thing for today, I promise. If you decide to have children in the future, at this point I can't say for sure, but you wouldn't necessarily pass this genetic differences to your children. Men are far more likely to do so, because they are continually creating sperm from the changed genome, but you've got all the eggs you'll ever have, and we've seen that it's not usual for women to pass along their mutations unless they were born with them. The incident that produces the mutations isn't always so comprehensive as to affect the eggs as well."

"I can barely contemplate finishing high school," I said to Dr Mac. "I can't even begin to think about kids."

He smiled. "There's no denying it's a lot easier to finish your education, however far you want to go, when you don't have to think about childcare. But it might occur to you at some point, so I thought I would give you the most up-to-date information we have."

I went upstairs, deep in thought. Mr Stark wasn't there, so he'd left me instructions. He was starting on yet another suit--honestly, he seemed to have five around at any given time--and I was to do some soldering on a plate that Emma had created for him so we could see if it did accept normal solder--her alloys apparently usually didn't permit this--and so Mr Stark could test... a doodad of some kind. Honestly, I just wasn't that interested right now. He'd left a couple of different types of solder for me along with the plate, so I just had to locate the components.

The first solder was a bust, but the first one was at least working temporarily, under no stress. I became aware of Mr Stark peering over my shoulder, but finished soldering before I put down the soldering iron and looked up.

"Good," he said absently, and picked up the plate. He walked away, examining it, and I went onto the number two task on my list.

As I drifted around the workshop, gathering the supplies I needed, Mr Stark selected a screwdriver and began poking energetically at the soldering. "So what's up?" he asked, keeping his eyes on the plate. "You don't seem as lively as usual."

I picked up the tin snips and went back to my spot at a bench. "Well, I talked to the doctors today." I began to cut out a paper pattern.

"And?" he asked archly, when I didn't go on.

"The testing shows mutations occurring in four places." I placed a small piece of tape on the pattern and pressed it to a thin piece of steel before picking up a scriber to trace around the pattern. 

Mr Stark hopped off his stool immediately. "And?" he said, frowning.

"Well, the doctor said that three mutations were physical and one would be mental." I transferred the pattern to another piece of steel. "They're not supposed to express themselves in the phenotype, so that's good, they don't know what they might do or how strong they might be. It's just a wait and see thing right now." I could practically see him turning the information over in his brain, examining it from every angle, and started cutting out the pattern along the lines I'd scribed. Then I took them over to the brake and formed some ninety-degree angles in the metal before placing them on Mr Stark's bench.

"I can see where this isn't the news you were hoping for," he said as I consulted my list for the next project. "But let me say a few related things. First, your medical care related to these mutations is guaranteed for the duration of your life or my company, whichever ends first, because you were harmed here, and that makes it my responsibility. I can't make it right, medical researchers don't know how to reverse genetic changes, so this is the best I can do. And just so you don't worry, I'm not going to bug you about joining the Avengers. For one thing, you're still a minor, and I did that once, it was wrong of me and I've learned my lesson. Second, you're a little upset, even if you're keeping it inside, and that's no time to be making big decisions. You haven't even gone to college yet. So at some point, I will ask you to join, probably; you've met several of us, you're smart and talented, and you can make real contributions whether or not you end up with a superpower. But I'm not going to harass you about it and today is not that day." He studied me. "So what else?"

"College," I burst out. "I don't even know what I want to study. And I'm gong to have to start picking colleges I'm interested in soon so I can put them down on the college board tests. What If i make a mistake and go to the wrong place? And how am I going to afford it? Mom and Dad will help some, but I'm still going to need scholarships and student loans. And I don't want to come out needing to pay huge amounts on my loans each month. God. Maybe I should just go to a community college for the first two years, get the general studies classes out of the way, hope I get everything figured out before that's over." I rubbed my head. I wasn't the only one at school with these concerns, the juniors were freaking out about that while the seniors were in a tizzy about applications. 

Mr Stark thought about this, rubbing the gold ring on his right hand. "Have you ever thought about MIT?"

"Jesus Christ!" I said loudly.

"I'm not him," Mr Stark said modestly. Almost against my will, I smiled a little.

"That's a really expensive school, elite," I said, rejecting the idea. "Plus I don't think I could get in even if I tried. They get tons of applications and accept only a few, like most of the best places."

"And you don't think you can get into the best," he said, narrowing his eyes. "I disagree. First of all, if you can get in, they'll make sure you can afford it. They have a lot of endowments, they can afford to make that promise. Second, Stark Tech offers generous scholarships. The application notice is published in December and awarded in February for the next year. It's open to the public, but interns and employees--of which you are one--have preference. Third, nobody declares a major in their first year at MIT. You get some experience under your belt before you have to make that choice." I knew he'd graduated from the school at 19 with two masters degrees, so he'd be familiar with all that. As if he was following my thoughts, he smiled. "I'm an alumnus, but that isn't as much help as you might think." He held up a hand. "And I'm also sure you're not thinking of ways to exploit being my lab assistant. But I could endow another program there and write the perfect recommendation letter--which I plan to do, the letter, I mean-- and you won't get special consideration. They admit the person, if you've got what they're looking for. And I think you do." He patted my head. "Think about it."

I immersed myself in some circuitry diagrams, surfacing only when Uncle Bucky came in with cookies. He took one look at me and demanded to know what was wrong. So I told him about the doctor visit and he enfolded me in a hug. He sighed a little. "I know that you don't want to deal with this, and you're young to have to worry about it, but you're not alone, you can talk to me any time you want. And I just want to emphasize that you shouldn't be worried about this until the doctors know more, and I know you're trying. I'm sure nobody's putting pressure on you to do anything you don't want to." He shifted, and I laughed a little.

"Don't glare at Mr Stark, Uncle Bucky," I mumbled. "He promised not to say anything until I'm at least out of college."

"How did you know--?" he asked. I just looked up at him with a 'you're kidding, right?' expression, and he smiled. 

"Ok, sweetie." I let go and started to nibble on my cookie. "Are you about ready to hit the bag?" I looked at the clock and opened my mouth to protest; I still had ten minutes work left.

"I'm about to kick you out anyway," Mr Stark said breezily. "Gonna open up an arc reactor and I promised your aunt I'd keep you out of the path of danger."

"Don't blow anything up," I said as I collected my stuff. "I'd like to still have someplace to work tomorrow and a boss in one piece."

"I'll try," he said with a smirk, and turned back to his bench.


	11. Combat

I took a couple of days to think about what the test results meant before calling my parents. They were not happy. But a reminder that the doctors didn't know if the mutations would even express themselves in any way cheered them up a little. Somehow I forgot to mention that Aunt Emma could set me up with an interview at Wayne Enterprises. I was just as pleased that they'd have some time to get used to the news before I saw them at Christmas.

Thanksgiving was nice; Uncle Bucky and I helped Aunt Emma make the dinner, and we watched the football game. Sam and Mindy went to visit their son for the holiday down in Miami, so I had the apartment to myself for a few days. It was nice, but kind of weird; it was the first time I had lived by myself. Emma sent me home with a lot of leftovers, so I didn't even have much to do. I worked on Sunday as usual, went to the movies with my friends on Saturday, and spent the rest of my time getting organized for finals and getting some study time in for my ACT/SAT prep.

I also checked out MIT, as Mr Stark had urged. While I still thought it was way out of my league, it did sound amazing, and I had some of the qualities that the listed for their applicants, like enjoying collaboration, being willing to get my hands dirty, and making the world a better place--they specifically listed tutoring as an example. And Mr Stark was right; right there on their website was a pledge that if you were accepted, they'd make sure you could pay for it. When I went back to school on Monday, I went to the guidance counselor, and she seemed excited about my willingness to 'dream big' as she put it. I couldn't decide whether she meant that I was delusional or whether she meant to be encouraging. She did point out that there were always a few graduating seniors who were accepted there, so maybe I wasn't completely insane for entertaining thoughts of going there. She also had other schools for me to check out and didn't seem worried about my lack of a future major.

I kept my head down through the end of exams, slept in the next day, went to work and dropped off my presents. I was going to miss working out with Uncle Bucky and talking to Aunt Emma, but on the other hand, I'd get to sleep in a lot and spend time with J and my folks. It is very hard to buy presents for adults who can afford anything they want. I gave Uncle Bucky a promise to help with the firepit he wanted to improve in the backyard of their house next spring, and Aunt Emma got a Craftsy class on making croissants; she loved them but thought they were too intimidating to make. Mr Stark was a lot harder. I finally made a little Arduino robot; it was on wheels and had a pincer so it could hold small things, like a third hand at his bench. I left it there with the microcontroller, holding a bag of cookies that I'd gotten from a bakery. He was currently in the throes of passion for macarons.

I took the train up to Pennsylvania the next day; Dad picked me up at the train station and drove me home. It was nice to be back home, with my princess bed and the holidays coming up. J's football team had only lost one game during their season and went to state, where they were defeated, but the coaches and players were very enthusiastic about next year. It was fun to help Dad in his wood shop again; he was finishing a set of Windsor chairs for a client. I enjoyed rubbing the wood with Dad's special blend of wax and oils to bring up the color and grain of the cherry wood, and it provided a nice satiny finish. I picked up some shifts at the restaurant; crowds were bigger at lunch and dinner, and J and I made time to go see the new Star Wars movie; it was kind of a tradition with us to see it first with each other. We had a really nice roast beef dinner for Christmas, and I'd brought Emma and Bucky's presents with me. I didn't know they knitted, but they'd hand knit afghans for all of us, each different. Dad's was charcoal gray and had big bold cables, J's was done in the high school's colors and there was a small raised football knitted in each corner. Mom's was her favorite shade of purple and had tassels, and mine was teal, with an intricate-looking stitch pattern. I'd gotten dad a couple of blades for his woodworking planes, mom an Amazon gift card so she could get books for herself, and J a Steelers T shirt; his old one was in bad shape. I got clothes; J gave me a book of 501 French verbs, fully conjugated, mom also got me a pair of neutral brown oxfords with ribbon ties and really comfortable rubber soles which would provide safety at work. Dad had made me a little jewelry box out of cherry, with a pretty design in walnut on the lid. It was an awesome Christmas. I went back to New York on New Year's day so I'd have a day in between the holiday and starting school again. I'd gotten all As this semester, which was a relief. J had also done better, as he'd threatened during the summer; he had a good mix of As and Bs. I was taking the second semesters of all the classes I'd taken in the fall except for psychology; I'd traded that for a Personal Development class; it had units in financial education (learning about insurance, banking, budgeting and credit), consumer science (smart shopping, a little about nutrition, meal planning, and evaluating recipes for the nutrition, ease of making, and taste), interior design and planning that could be applied to dorm rooms and small apartments, and personal development (setting goals, investigating careers, and selecting and maintaining clothes, vehicles, and housing.)

Then it was back to normal. School started again, I had homework, and it was back to work. On my bench was a mess of interoffice mail and a box with a bow. Inside were components for a robotic arm. And not a kit off the shelf; this was custom. I recognized the style of one of Mr Stark's technical drawings--it had a certain flair-- and uncovered a very general guide for making the thing. "You'll have to figure out some of the details," Mr Stark said from behind me. I jumped a foot, not having heard him come up behind me. "It'll help you develop problem-solving skills and familiarity with bots. Your little bot is cute." I looked over at his bench; he had a piece of solder in the pincer and it was positioned above a turntable. Apparently he'd devised some sort of speed-soldering setup. I smiled. "Cookies were delicious." He made a shooing motion at me. "Go on, get to work, that thing won't assemble itself."

It took me three flippin' weeks to figure out the robotic arm. All I did at my job was assemble my Christmas present. It was really a thing of beauty when I got it done, though; it was mostly blackened metal, with shiny silver and brass components here and there and a heavy, shaped base that could also be clamped to the bench top. Then I started to use it in the work Mr Stark gave me. He also started to leave my work priority list in its grip when he wasn't there.

Systema training with Uncle Bucky took an interesting turn too. He started having me go full out during the drills, pointing out that if I had to use my skills in real life, I had to know how to do it. I also learned really fast how to pull my blows in the rare cases when Bucky was distracted during a drill, and learned how to take a hit. Bucky never gave me anything in practice; I had to earn getting past his guard, and it was instructive to learn how to take a hit. The first time it hurt and was really distracting, then it gradually began to be something I shook off. And my defense got better too. I had sessions with the tissue accelerator upstairs after those bouts where I'd be likely to develop bruises so that I didn't go around looking like I was being beaten up a lot. Mostly, though the hitting was done in boxing bouts. I was becoming a pretty good boxer.

One day I came in and Uncle Bucky said, after I'd warmed up and stretched, that he felt I needed a new challenge. I looked at him suspiciously; he tried to look bland, then cracked up. And introduced me to Thor!

I felt like crying. He was more than twice as big as me. I looked at Uncle Bucky and he shook his head. "Don't look at me like that. It's a way to measure your progress, by giving you an opponent who doesn't know how you fight. Mix it up; you can use boxing form or Systema, as you choose. Don't pull your punches." Thor was looking at me like I was some weird bug.

"Friend Bucky," he said ominously. "This is but a girl. You promised me a fight." Bucky rolled his eyes, but frankly, I was in complete agreement with Thor.

Before he could reply, the elevator dinged and Aunt Emma, Mr Stark, and a tall, thin man I didn't know walked quickly up to us.

"Honey," Aunt Emma said in an 'are you deranged?' tone of voice. Bucky shot her a quick grin and held up his hand.

"Don't break my assistant," was all my boss said. Frankly, I was hoping for more of a robust defense. The remaining man looked from Thor to Bucky to me thoughtfully.

"Step back," said my uncle, who apparently hated me, and herded the onlookers over to the mirrors, then stepped back up to Thor and me. "Begin."

Thor rolled his eyes, an unattractive human mannerism in a god-like person, and dismissively raised his hand for a backhand. I saw it coming easily, evaded it by stepping back, then did a roundhouse-style kick that made him stagger. That just pissed him off, and the fight was on.

He was a brawler, not disciplined in a particular style of fighting, I soon saw, and he didn't seem to be super effective without his hammer. Although, thank god there was no hammer or I would have probably a smear on the rubberized floor and/or a piece of burned toast.

I had a huge disadvantage in height and overall strength, but a big advantage in training. I got to use a lot of things that Uncle Bucky had taught me, focusing on Systema rather than boxing. I used a combination of finger, elbow, and palm strikes and combinations of these strikes, punches, and kicks, focusing on pressure points and vulnerable joints because he didn't seem to have any easily discernible weak points. I felt in danger only once, when he started to choke me with his forearm over my throat. So I bit his arm and bent his finger back. He let me go with a roar and I spun away and improvised a kick that was kind of a develope with an attitude, my pointed toe in my New Balance going in right under his chin. Thor stumbled back, tripped, and sat down hard. I went in--finally, he was at my height!--but Uncle Bucky stepped in front of me. I tried to move him aside, but he stayed put--after all, he was a lot more experienced than I was--and called a halt. When he saw that I'd moved out of combat mode, he checked my neck quickly, then nodded.

I walked over to Thor to give him a hand up, and he looked at me like, 'really?' and got up on his own. I shrugged and stepped back. The strange man started to clap. "You got your ass kicked by a slip of a girl, brother," he said admiringly as he walked over to us.

This was Loki?

"She bit me," Thor growled to his brother, showing him. Loki barely glanced at it.

"That's the least of your troubles," he said lightly as Bucky swabbed the bite mark with antiseptic.

"My finger hurts," he said peevishly. Bucky peered at it.

"You should go up and get that looked at," he advised, going to the medical kit and returning with a bag of water, which he handed to Loki. His hand went blue, the water got slushy, and he gave it to his brother, who put it on his hand in a surly fashion.

Thor looked a little worse for wear; he was going to have some bruises. Loki stroked my throat gently with his cool fingers; it felt good against my bruised windpipe. "Impressive," he said, and then escorted his brother firmly to the elevator.

"Bluebell isn't wrong about that," my boss said crisply as he and Aunt Emma walked up. "From ballerina to interstellar as-" he glanced at my aunt quickly and corrected himself, "Butt-kicker in what, six months?"

"A little longer than that," my uncle said. "She started in the spring, but you're right, it is pretty remarkable."

"I had the benefit of a world-class teacher," I disagreed. "Although I didn't realize you wanted to kill me," I said to my uncle pointedly.

He put his arm over my shoulders and kissed my hair. "Hardly, sweetie," he said. "It wasn't really even a fight. I'll have to find somebody more skilled for your next opponent now that we know you have no trouble with someone who's bigger than you."

"Bucky," my aunt said in a threatening tone. He glanced at her and steered me over to the elevator.

"Let's go get your neck looked at," he said hastily. He hit the button for the clinic main floor. "I'll review the recording, then we'll talk about it tomorrow. You made some interesting choices," he said, and we talked about why I did something until the elevator door opened and we stepped into the clinic. The doctor said I just had some swelling and was likely to bruise, so I had a session with the tissue accelerator and they took my weekly tissue sample a day early since I was there.

"Thor's worse off," the doctor said as I sat up. "You dislocated his finger and bruised his kidney." I cringed. That might come back on me sometime. "Not to worry, we're treating both those things and he'll be fine," he said reassuringly.

It was a short elevator ride up to Emma's office and peanut butter cookies.


	12. Date

The next day, something amazing happened. I got asked out on a date. I know! Amazing! His name was Roger Hall, and he was a senior, and he asked me to go out with him to a movie Saturday afternoon. I was studying Saturday, but a couple of hours wouldn't leave a huge gap. Plus, a date!

Aslyn was so excited; by the end of lunch, Karen and Rill had texted me with congratulations and questions. Aslyn attached a pic she'd snapped of him, showing his broad smile, thick hair, and blue eyes.

"He's a ginger," Rill pointed out.

"Yeah, it's a gorgeous shade of auburn, don't you think?" I asked. The girls were a little less enthusiastic about red hair for some reason, but I didn't mind.

"Saw him playing basketball last summer. Sure, he's like vampire-pale, but he's got great legs," Aslyn said in defense, and the girls settled down by the time school was over. I had a sunny mood that lasted until I got to work. Mr Stark had gone out Avenging and forgot to leave me instructions, so I finished up my work and decided to do some organizing in the current system. Nothing major, just things like grouping the hardware in one cabinet, organizing the sheet metal by type, size, and thickness, cleaning as I went. I didn't feel like I had the authority to make big changes, like putting up a pegboard to organize tools that were usually scattered all over the place, so instead I separated the wrenches and screwdrivers into types--crescent, Allen, slot, Philips, ect--put them into plastic bins, and spent the rest of the time figuring out how to get Dum-E to retrieve the right bin when requested. Then it was down to Uncle Bucky, who brought up a full-size , 3D projection of the fight. We watched it once and then he took me through it slower, pausing it here and there to point flaws with my form, hesitations, suggestions for other types of attack or defense. I was a little depressed at the end of it, but he tried to rally me by pointing out what I'd done well too, especially the kick to Thor's jaw, and he was very pleased, considering that I hadn't been learning for very long. Then we practiced, going over some things I hadn't done correctly and drilling to make action more instinctive than hesitation. Still, I was really glad when it was time to go for cookies. And also glad that I had Wednesday off.

Finally Saturday was here, and it seemed to take forever for the day to pass, but I showed up at the theater right on time (after lurking in a store for twenty minutes because I was early) and found Roger waiting. We'd agreed to meet at the theater because it was about halfway between our homes, and got in the line for Rogue One; I sighed happily. "This might just displace Star Wars as my favorite movie in this universe," I said when he asked.

"A New Hope," he corrected, and I shook my head.

"In the original theatrical release, it was simply titled 'Star Wars,'" I said. "There's no need to go back and change the name or add a bunch of stuff to it."

"So you're a purist," he said, and started to laugh.

"I also like to ignore most of the horrible prequel trilogy," I said.

"What don't you ignore?" he asked, teasing me a little, and I smiled.

"Maybe the last what, half hour of the third movie? Skywalker goes over to the dark side, and gets chopped into bits and left for dead on Mustafar. That's relevant and not actually a waste of time." We talked some more about the movie we were about to see--he'd seen it over the holidays too--and what we liked about it, and what we didn't like. I liked the CGI with Peter Cushing, he wasn't so fond of it. Both of us thought Carrie Fisher's image didn't fare as well, but I love how it tied in so tightly with Star Wars. He liked the battle at Scarif more than I did. "It's knowing that none of our rebels are going to get out of there alive that I don't like," I said consideringly.

"But they knew it was a long shot going in," Roger said.

"Yeah, and that's what redeems it for me," I agreed. "It's knowing what the right thing is and doing it, regardless of the personal cost. It makes me wonder if I could be that brave." We talked about that as we got popcorn and soda and found seats. Then we watched as the story unfolded before us on the screen. After, we chatted a little before he had to leave to ride herd on his younger siblings as his parents were going out that evening. Before I left, we set up a date for the next Saturday, and he kissed my cheek goodbye.

After that, we started going out regularly. It wasn't really a boyfriend/girlfriend kind of thing, because he was graduating and going to college, but he was excellent company, fun, smart, and he pushed me to be a little more social. I met new people to supplement my best friends, and that wasn't bad either.

It was March before Uncle Bucky came up with another opponent for me. I was apprehensive when I walked in and saw a strange man, tall and muscle-ly and radiating bad attitude. He kind of glowered at me while I warmed up and stretched and had a few words with my uncle.

"This isn't going to be a fight," I said sternly.

"You might be surprised," was all Bucky said.

"You do realize that I'm just an average teenager and mutations are really rare, right? Nobody with that kind of power wastes their time mugging teenagers," I pushed anxiously.

"You work in Avenger tower, and New York is full of weird things and people," Bucky said. Then he guided me to the center of the room and introduced me to my opponent, a guy named Logan. The elevator chimed and disgorged Aunt Emma and Mr Stark, as I'd half expected when I discovered I'd be having a bout, but also Loki and Thor. Yay. An audience.

At first I felt like I was holding my own, which meant that Mr Logan took that as a cue to amp things up, and soon I felt like I was battling for my life. He seemed to be pulling his blows some, but I was still going to need a nice long treatment with the accelerator. Maybe they could make one like a tanning bed and install it down here. I was about spent; I managed to land a final blow to his Achilles' tendon, making his leg buckle; he snarled and these freaking machetes sprung out of the backs of his hands. I almost passed out in fear. What the hell was my uncle thinking, bringing in Wolverine? I didn't get quite far enough away; the tips of three of those awful blades raked my upper arm.

I don't know who was more shocked, me or him. I could see the blood welling from the slices in my skin, but they were too cleanly made for pain to be instantaneous. I pulled my t shirt over my head and used it to pad my arm, then turned and headed for the elevator. Everybody else seemed to be in shock. The doors closed before anybody really shook out of it.

The doctor in the ER part of the clinic actually winced when she gently pulled my shirt away. I caught a look at my muscle tissue and almost heaved. After that, I didn't watch until she was stitching me up. The shock of it caught up with me and I couldn't help crying, but the nurse who was helping brought over a box of tissues without comment, which I appreciated. Then it was over to the tissue accelerator for a nice long session, and I was told to come back the next day to get more treatment. The damage was severe and I didn't have a story that would cover it, so I had to keep coming back for more accelerator treatments until it was fully healed. I hoped that this could be done by the weekend; things were heating up with Roger and I didn't want to put the brakes on it by hiding an impossible-to-explain injury. I asked the doctor, and she couldn't make any guarantees. She gave me some pain medication for later, care instructions, and turned me loose.

They were all waiting in the waiting room. I looked at them in perturbation. My uncle's face was white, but I was getting up a good head of steam. "What is the matter with you people?" I asked. I'm a normal teenager, no healing mojo, no special powers, hey, not a hero here, and you think it's ok to have me spar with with a guy who even the regular public knows has anger management issues and a personal armory? Now I've got these injuries that I can't say, gee, I was clumsy in the kitchen or I tripped on the stairs and that's why bruises." I shook my head angrily and started to stomp out. Bucky got to his feet, but I shook my head. "No. I'm really mad." At the elevator, Loki caught up with me. As we stepped inside, he did his blue hand thing, which, unlike River in Firefly, was a good thing for me, as he held his hand not quite touching my arm. I knew, thanks to physics class, that heat was mobile, not cold, but it felt like the chill was radiating into my damaged arm and it felt really good. I sighed in relief. He dropped his hand, the color fading back to his usual pale skin when the door opened on the lobby. To my surprise, he came outside with me.

"Let me give you a ride home," he said. "You've had quite an afternoon." He gestured over to the side, and I saw a black sedan with diplomatic plates on them parked in a no-parking zone. Despite myself, I had to smile. I gave the driver the cross-streets nearest Sam and Mindy's house (no point attracting more attention) and the ride was mostly silent.

"I'm not saying you don't have cause to be upset," Loki said toward the end of it. "But you might want to consider that you fought a rather notorious mutant to the point when he reacted instinctively to a threat, and you also almost avoided being hurt. Had you not jumped back so swiftly, your wounds would have been much worse." I sat sullenly, not wanting to be fair right now. "And your uncle is very proud of what you've managed to accomplish with your talent and dedication. You mean a great deal to him, he boasts of your accomplishments in general quite a lot." He caught my chin in his fingers. "He made a mistake.This is not something he's likely to do again." The car pulled over.

"Thanks for the ride," I said to him, and "thanks" to the driver. I shuffled off down the street. When I got home, I took a pain pill, turned off my phone, and took a nap. When I woke up, I picked at some takeout from the fridge, sped through my homework, and went to bed early.

We were doing yoga in gym, which caused my arm to hurt but not start bleeding, so I got through the following day pretty well. I spent my study hall in the library doing research for a history paper (which I actually needed to do, but I just wanted to relax a bit in a quiet place where it wouldn't be a huge big thing if I nodded off accidentally). This plan was dashed when I saw Roger there with a couple of his friends, who motioned me over to sit with them. I braced myself for discomfort when he put his arm around the back of my chair and patted my arm, but his hand stayed on my shoulder.

"We were just talking about the Spartan race," he said enthusiastically.

"What's that?"

"It's an obstacle race," Rob said. He flipped open his laptop and pulled up the website, Spartan.com. "They're having a race here in three weeks, and there are still spots available. We want to run it as a team, doing the sprint version, but we need four for a team. You want to join?" He showed me the website and I browsed around.

"Three to five miles is a sprint?" I asked, half in amusement, half misgiving.

"And twenty obstacles," Steve confirmed. He was in my gym class. The website showed some of the obstacles, like carrying a weighted bucket, traversing a wall with hand- and footholds, raising and lowering a bucket, climbing a rope and hitting a bell at the top.

I thought about it. My arm would be fine by then, unless I managed to get it lopped off in-between, and this was definitely a challenge. "Yeah, I'm in," I decided. It was on a Saturday, but I figured that I could slack off one day and it wouldn't tank my semester. I'd just have to plan effectively. Roger gave me a high five and a kiss, and we registered our team.

Aslyn thought I was nuts. "There are places I'll struggle," I acknowledged, "like carrying that heavy bucket. But other stuff will be easier for me. We registered for the morning session." I heaved a big sigh. "The ACTs are the next week, so if I can do this, I can do that." I was looking at it as a confidence builder.

"Have you decided which schools you're going to put down?" she asked.

"No, not yet," I sighed. "You?"

"Yeah, I want to apply to Berkley, Harvard, Columbia, and the University of Maryland. They've got good programs. Berkley and Harvard are probably out of reach, but a girl can dream, right?" She grinned at me. "And you never know, I might get in, I'm not exactly stupid. So, just pie-in-the-sky dreaming, where would you apply?"

"Um...Columbia," I said tentatively, "Stanford, maybe University of Michigan, Johns Hopkins. MIT."

She looked at me sharply. "Those are all good schools for engineering."

"I'm leaning that way."

She smiled. "We might end up in Columbia together," she said. "But hopefully we both get into our dream schools."

After school, I slipped off to the tower. I didn't have a good reason for being there, and I needed more time with the accelerator. The treatments took longer because the bruises were deep and those cuts... I took a little nap, then when the doctor turned me loose, asked the AI if Mr Stark was in the building and if he was busy. The AI said he was in the lab, drinking coffee, which didn't necessarily mean he wasn't busy since his brain rarely turns off, but I decided to risk it. When I got there, he was trying to balance a pencil by the eraser end on his nose. I tapped on the door. When he looked over, I asked if he had a minute.

"You don't have to knock, this isn't the principal's office," he said, picking the pencil up off the floor. "How's the arm?"

"They think they'll take out the stitches tomorrow," I said, leaning on his bench. "So we're taking the ACTs next month and I need to come up with schools to put down to receive the scores. Do you really think I have a chance of getting into MIT?"

"I can't guarantee you'd be admitted, but let's review. Your GPA is 3.9 something out of a 4.0 scale, you have a range of academic and other kinds of extracurriculars, you've been doing excellent work in a tough job for a demanding boss, you have initiative, curiosity, you want to make a difference. So yeah, I think you have a better than decent chance." He twiddled the pencil between his fingers. "What do you want to study?"

"I'm just leaning toward some kind of engineering," I said. He nodded.

"I've got a business trip next week," he said abruptly. "I'm looking to build something for fun. Come up with three proposals for a device that has a specific purpose. Identify the purpose, why you think it's a good idea, and how you'd start the project. Don't censor yourself. Put it in an email to me no later than next Friday. When I get back we'll discuss it and decide which one to do." He patted my head. "That'll give me something really significant to talk about in my letter of recommendation. Where else are you thinking?"

"Columbia, Johns Hopkins, Michigan, Stanford," I said tentatively.

"Decent schools," he said dismissively. I rolled my eyes. "But MIT is the best. Ace the test and you'll be a very good candidate." He shot me a quick glance. "Have you talked to Barnes today?"

I fidgeted. "No..."

"Go down before you leave," he instructed. I heaved a sigh. He wasn't lying when he called himself a demanding boss. I might call him difficult. "When you get into MIT, you can choose between taking summer classes and getting through early or you can have your old job here back, and you'll have a guaranteed job after graduation." I blinked and downgraded him to demanding again.

He shooed me off, so I dragged my feet all the way to the sub basement. Uncle Bucky was talking to Thor when I got down there; they looked over and quickly finished their conversation. On his way past me to the elevator, Thor patted my good shoulder, and I staggered slightly from the impact.

"I'm sorry, sweetie," Uncle Bucky said tentatively. "I thought it would be good for you to have a real challenge after Thor, and Logan said he'd control his temper. He is contrite about it."

I wanted to sigh, but felt I'd turn into a genuine melodramatic teenager if I kept it up. Besides, I don't like being at odds with my uncle. I stepped up and gave him a hug, snuggling into the flannel. "Sometimes I think you don't remember I'm not super," I mumble.

He gave me a squeeze. "You are super," he corrected me. "But yeah, Logan was a bad choice. I'd like to think about what you achieved, though, you fought one of the X-men's heavy hitters to the point where he resorted to his personal weaponry." He put his arm around my shoulders and we started back toward the elevator. Up in Aunt Emma's lab, we enjoyed cookies.

"Spoke to Sif today," she said. Bucky looked interested. "Loki let it slip to Thor's good old boy buddies that he had his ass handed to him by a girl not half his size." She smirked. "He took a lot of shit for that; you know how patriarchical they are, Loki challenged them to come down for a bout." Her mouth thinned. "I understand if you want to be done with bouting, but it would be So. Great. if you could kick their asses back to Asgard." She selected another cookie. That woman can eat. "So how's the arm?"

"I can probably get the stitches out tomorrow," I said. "That accelerator thing is amazing." We talked more about school, then I told them that I was entering the Spartan race. Emma immediately looked it up.

"Are you serious?" she asked disbelievingly. "Good lord, that's the obstacle course from hell."

"Good thing Stevie never heard about this," Bucky said affectionately. "He'd have had us all running it."

"No. I would have had to put my foot down on that," Emma said. "There's a fire obstacle, for fuck's sake!" I looked at her like she was nuts. Each to her own, I guess. She'd had an unparalleled opportunity for fun and she makes it sound like work. That fire obstacle thing was the one I really wanted to do.

Bucky was enthusiastic and said we could step back a bit on Systema and he'd help me train for the race. After a few more cookies all around, I went home to both restructure my study schedule until after the ACTs and start to think about Mr Stark's engineering challenge.


	13. Prep

The next day I went to the tower to start training for Spartan after the session with the accelerator. The bruises from my fight with Wolverine were gone and the cuts healed enough not to draw attention, just faint, pale lines. The training room was surprisingly crowded, so I warmed up, stretched, and joined Natasha at the barre while I waited for my uncle. After a quick hug from Bucky, I got instructions for a weight lifting sequence for the upper body. Natasha offered to spot me, and he was able to move on to the next individual. She was rather surprisingly encouraging as I lifted. I don't know why exactly that surprised me, but it did. I knew she and my aunt didn't get along anymore and she and my uncle were exes, but she kept any baggage of her interactions with me. She asked questions about Spartan and laughed when I told her it was an obstacle race.

"Steve would have adored that," she said affectionately.

"Why is that?" I asked, focusing on the barbell. "That's the second time I've heard that."

"Oh, he loved obstacle courses," she said, smiling. "He just really enjoyed challenges and kept making the course we had in Seattle more challenging. Probably because he coud finally excel at the type of physically demanding activities he couldn't have dreamed of before the serum. He'd have been thrilled to find somebody who actually liked them too. Most of us just tolerated it, but a few actively loathed it. He'd have been first at the starting line, encouraging everybody, leading the way, helping where he could."

"Well, the rules say that the elite athletes can't help each other, but that's not us, I'll accept help from my teammates if I need to," I said, racking the bar after my last press.

"And you're going to do your best to make sure you don't need that help," she said knowingly, with a grin. I grinned back.

"You bet. I'd rather be doing the helping." Her grin got a little wistful.

"It's too bad you never got to meet Steve. You're a lot alike."

"Not so much," I disagreed. "You're not going to see me lining up to be a hero."

"There's more than one way to be a hero than pulling on a funky costume," she said, then helped me select a weight for my triceps.

After I got done with my list of exercises, Natasha had a few tips for me, then waved at Bucky before she left. He came over, looking a little cross after apparently arguing with Quicksilver about doing more than cardio, and asked me if I'd mind showing somebody how to punch using the heavy bag. I agreed, of course, and followed him over to a nice-looking guy a little older than me.

"Come on, dad," he protested as we approached. "I don't need to hit, that's not my thing. I'm nonviolent." Dad? I covered my shock. I had no idea my uncle had a kid, and it was now over a year now since I'd met him. I couldn't help feeling a little hurt, but covered it and put on my gloves, showing this guy, introduced as Peter, how to punch. Uncle Bucky watched as I observed Peter and made a couple of corrections, then he moved on to other people. After I thought he had the idea, I moved to the next bag over where I could hit and still monitor his progress. He wasn't enthusiastic, but he dutifully complied with Bucky's instructions for another ten minutes before stopping. I didn't really feel like that was much of a workout, but I didn't have authority to say so. He asked for help with his gloves, and I suppressed an eyeroll with difficulty. They stayed on with Velcro tabs, not the latest complicated Stark tech. I ripped open one of my gloves with my teeth and got the tabs on his gloves open quickly. He flushed a little, muttered thanks, and walked away. I put my glove back on and finished another ten minutes before hitting the treadmill, pushing the pace a little. I had Lifetime Sports with Steve and knew he was strong and a good runner; I knew from personal experience that Roger was cut, and his cardio was good because he liked to play basketball, so I had to assume that Rob was the same way. No way was I going to let down the team or be the weak girl. I waved to Bucky when I left.

I brooded about this Peter guy a bit. It wasn't until I was almost home that I remembered hearing that Emma had pretty much adopted a kid, which would make Bucky like his stepfather. So that explained the relationship, but not why I hadn't heard more about this guy---like anything at all. Well, there had to be reasons, I just wasn't privy to them. I tamped down my feelings, chatted with Sam about what to order for dinner, then focused on my work afterward. I checked email--still no word on the SAT scores, which I'd taken the month before. I felt like I'd done a pretty good job there, but the ACT practice tests seemed a lot harder for some reason and I really wanted to do a good job on both tests, show what I could do, and hopefully the first time so I didn't have to waste time retesting. And I was having trouble with Mr Stark's assignment. My first idea was to build a larger tissue accelerator; he'd specifically told me not to self-censor and surely I couldn't be the only one who would find it useful. After that, I was drawing a blank, and I had less than a week now to produce something mildly impressive.

I was glad to take a break and take a call from Roger. We talked about what we wanted to do for our next date and agreed on dancing at a club where underagers were admitted. He was a really good dancer. He was also getting antsy; next week was the start of April and college acceptances would be mailed. "I volunteer to distract you," I said smartly, and he laughed. It turned out that Friday afternoon after school, there'd be about an hour and a half where his parents would be taking his younger siblings to activities. It was too good an opportunity to miss. We weren't having sex yet, but the prospect was good. Between his family, my host family, and the fact that neither of us had cars, finding a place where we could be more intimate was a problem.One of Roger's best qualities was that he didn't push me, which made me feel safe and more enthusiastic about exploring with him. Now, having good things to look forward to, I focused on ACT prep.

The week flew by. The only thing that was difficult was working out with my uncle; he hadn't brought up this Peter guy, so I asked about him. "He's the guy Aunt Emma adopted, right?" I asked, keeping most of my attention on my form. It was leg day, and nobody should slack off on leg day.

"It's not a formal adoption," Uncle Bucky said absently, "but yes."

And that was it. I didn't want to ask why he hadn't really ever talked about this guy before, not wanting to look needy or demanding. He'd known that guy a lot longer than he'd known me, after all. And I wanted him to volunteer the information, as if I had a right to know. But he didn't, and a faint shade of distance crept into our relationship.

Mr Stark had said that the bigger tissue accelerator was a useful idea and could be done easily since it's just scaling up something that already existed, but it was somebody else's tech and so it wasn't right for the challenge he'd set me, which was to come up with something new. My second idea had been a robot that could do inventory by itself according to a program. It could be used in any lab; containers would have to be preweighed, along with the weight of an object, like a bolt in Mr Stark's lab or what a full container of a chemical weighed, then somebody would know just when to order things without having to do an inventory each time. The third was a device that could remember where a patient had been hurt and perform some routine actions, like drawing blood or taking a tissue sample, automatically, including the prep with an alcohol wipe before the needle. Mr Stark liked both these ideas, but thought that the inventory bot was more doable and useful. We examined the drawing I'd done, essentially a computer and a scale on wheels with a motor and robotic arm. The robot itself wouldn't be terribly challenging to make, it was the computer programming that would be the challenge and that wasn't my thing. Mr Stark agreed to write the programming and I would test the code and start to build the bot itself.

The time I spent with Roger Friday afternoon was a great distraction and a lot of fun besides, but I showed up to the ACT test feeling like I was gong to be sick. Aslyn looked calmer, Karen confident, and Rill tense. I kept double-checking things to make sure I had everything, especially a pencil sharpener in case I broke the points of all of my pencils. Then it was time to go in. The time flew by, and unlike the SATs, I had no idea how I'd done at the end. I was drained when I went home, and took a nap before it was time to get all pretty for my date. Roger was in a terrific mood; he'd gotten into all three of the colleges he'd applied to, so he was going to be able to attend his first choice, Carnegie Mellon. He wanted to study scientific and technical writing. He made me feel better about the test, saying that not only was I smart and had put in the study time, but that he had faith that I'd do great. That personal faith made me feel like maybe I did do ok. My parents had also expressed the belief that I'd do well, but they were my parents, it was their job. He didn't have to say that. At any rate, there was nothing I could do about it now, and I focused on having fun with him. The club was crowded, the bass pumped, and the energy was high, so it was easy to focus. After we left, he asked me to his senior prom; it was a little early to be asking, but he wanted to be sure I'd go. I agreed happily; there was no guarantee I'd be going to my own and it sounded fun. Now I could go shopping for a dress. Then he asked, stressing that he wasn't trying to pressure me and he knew it would be memorable either way, if he could get a hotel room for after the dance. I bit my lip as butterflies exploded in my stomach, then agreed. Monday I stopped by the clinic after work to discuss some birth control options.

Natasha started showing up more during the times I worked out and helped me when Bucky was busy, which was frequent on the days when I wasn't regularly scheduled. It was nice. She was friendly but not nosy. I had the feeling that Aunt Emma wasn't thrilled about it, but she had the sense not to say anything about it. We weren't going to be best friends, but it was nice to get to know another woman with more experience in the world.

On Wednesday, the long-awaited SAT scores were released during my last class of the day. Looking around at my classmates in English, there were more than a few like me, who were afraid to open the email. I gathered my resolve and opened them. And practically passed out. For real, I was lightheaded and there were spots in my vision. 1580 out of the composite score of 1600. Thank god. I bet that no matter what happened with the ACTs, that would be huge in my college applications. The average at MIT was 1520. I completely ignored the fact I was still in class and texted my parents the good news. And the girls and Roger in the next group text, then my aunt, uncle, and Mr Stark in the third. Then I looked around; the teacher was tolerant of the disruption and the probability that there would be no more learning today, some of my fellow students looked faint, others happy or disappointed. A couple of kids were in tears. The teacher started to go up and down the rows; most of the kids were texting parents and friends too.

"How did you do, Alex?" she asked, and relieved, I told her quietly. She grinned and patted my shoulder as she congratulated me. Roger texted back a quick congrats, and I'd gotten the highest score of my friends, though Aslyn wasn't far behind me. She was a little disappointed in her score, but it was still above average for admissions to the schools she wanted. My parents were so excited and proud of me. The bell rang, and I wobbled, lightheaded with relief, to my locker. Then I went to the tower, feeling like now I could focus on the race with a clear conscience.

Uncle Bucky was really proud of me, and Aunt Emma had celebratory ice cream afterward. Mr Stark stopped by with some sparkling apple cider, tart after the ice cream.

Friday, I made an early night of it, did my best to prep, and set my alarm to be sure I had ample time to get to the race venue.


	14. Race

I woke up too early. Nerves, anticipation, whatever; I ate a banana for breakfast to help with the leg cramps we'd read about racers getting. I'd read some articles for the first-time Spartans and had selected my gear carefully. It was going to be a fairly chilly day, overcast, a chance of rain, around 50 degrees F, so I wore a long sleeved Dri Fit t-shirt, compression shorts rather than panties, and Dri Fit shorts without pockets but with a really good drawstring. I didn't want to lose my clothing in the barbed wire crawl. I didn't bother with a watch and wore crosstrainers with a good sole. I had some gloves with decent wet grip and a Velcro closure on the back of the hand near the wrist. I put a complete change of clothes in a garbage bag for after the race, and went downstairs to wait for my ride. Roger picked me up and we got to the race a little more than the hour that was recommended, but that was ok. We submitted our waivers and picked up our packets; a volunteer drew our numbers on our forearms (I wasn't hardcore enough to get it on my forehead). I threaded the wristband through the timing chip and put it on my arm and dropped my stuff at the bag check, then we looked around for our teammates. Steve and Rob hustled up, grinning. We were all grinning as we warmed up and stretched. I couldn't believe how inflexible the guys were.

They called our time, so we joined the pack at the starting line, did a round of crisp high fives, and we were off.

The first obstacle was a moat, which was essentially a mud pit filled with water. Then there was a run and monkey bars, no trouble. A traverse wall, which was essentially panels with two by fours screwed to them. This was definitely an obstacle where having smaller feet helped. Then the bucket brigade, where we had to fill buckets with gravel, carry it along a route, and empty it again at the start. Bleah. Glad to get that one over fast. Then the barbed wire crawl through a mud field, a sandbag carry, and a plate drag. Then there was a series of ever-taller walls, from four feet to eight feet. There were kickers, little boosts to help the women, but I refused to use them. Then an Atlas Carry, which was where you had to carry a stone, put it down, do five burpees, then return the stone. That was for the dogs. A bridge where you had to climb up, go across a cargo net to the other side, and down. And that was half the race. Whew.

I was focused and ready for the next challenge. Steve had slipped on the cargo net and had a rope burn down his inner leg. Ouch. There was a nice bit of a run down a gentle slope and a balance beam. Like the traverse wall, having smaller feet helped, and I wished the soles of my shoes weren't so chunky. Roger fell off, and we waited for him to do the thirty penalty burpees since this was a single-attempt obstacle. Then we were off again to a spear throw. This was also a single-attempt obstacle, and you had to hurl the spear hard enough to stick in the target. Then a log carry, farmers carry where multiple weights were carried around a course ( I cursed steadily under my breath), and a swim through gross water. Then a Tarzan swing, great fun, and a rope climb. My arms were getting tired and I relied on my legs to help get me up the rope and swat the bell at the top. Then there was a run up and down some steep slopes, which was no fun for my legs but gave my arms and shoulders a break.

"About three more obstacles," Rob wheezed. It was 20+ obstacles for the sprint. I hoped it was more like 20 than +.

"I'd give you a high five, but I don't think I can lift my hand far enough," I panted, and the guys laughed, or tried to.

Then there was the over, under, through, which was over a wall, under a wall, and through the last wall (Roger gave me a little boost under the butt to get me over the first wall; I sat on the top and gave Rob a hand up on his second try.) The Tyrolean traverse. Then a spider web, another section to run up and down hills--although we were pretty much shuffling by this time--and, finally, the promised fire jump. We all grinned through the mud and picked up the pace. I hurdled over the flames with a feeling of triumph, then we made it over the finish line. A volunteer draped a participant medal around my neck and there was a table with bananas and water. I was in pretty good shape, though Rob had a leg cramp that had popped up as we approached the fire jump. They had 'showers', basically a bunch of garden hoses and cheap shampoo that did a decent job of getting the mud off (I think I had about half the mud from the barbed wire crawl caught in my sports bra), and I changed into clean clothes including my finisher's tshirt, stuffing race clothes into the garbage bag I'd brought. Then I rejoined my teammates after they got cleaned up. There were booths set up in the spectator area with merchandise, and we all bought matching t-shirts with the Spartan logo. We looked at the trifecta gear and talked about the other two races we'd have to complete to have those bragging rights--the Super, 25+ obstacles and 8+ miles, and the Beast, 30+ obstacles and 12+ miles--which had to be done within a year.

"Yeah, no thanks," Rob said. I was glad somebody else said it first. I caught sight of a familiar face in the crowd, so I excused myself to go to the port a potties and caught up with my uncle, trying for incognito with a different arm-- a standard prosthetic--a ball cap, and shades. He grinned at me.

"Nice work," he said. "How do you feel? Are you hydrating?" I smiled. I hadn't expected any spectator support since they charged people for the privilege, and he said he'd seen me attack six obstacles, including the fire jump thing. "I'm proud of you," he said. "That is crazy." And he'd seen quite a lot of the weird in his life. He said he wanted to hear more about it later, and sent me back to my teammates.

We didn't stay too much longer; we were pretty tired. We hit a restaurant on the way back to the city, then Roger dropped me home, where, after a kiss, I slogged upstairs, put my clothes in the washer, took a better shower, and fell into bed. When I woke up, I was starting to feel the heavy exertion in my arms and shoulders and took some ibuprofin. Sam and Mindy were home and took me out to eat to celebrate and hear all about it.

"I'm not really a fan of giving everybody a participation trophy or whatever just for showing up, but now I can really see the appeal," I told them as the appetizers showed up.

Mindy patted my hand. "I think you should get a bouquet and sash too. You're a mud queen." I laughed. I wasn't good for much, so when we got home, we watched a movie on Netflix and I went to bed earlier than usual.

The next day I felt sorer than usual, but not cramped into a fetal position, which I'd been worried about. I took my time getting to the tower for work. Mr Stark was in the lab, swearing viciously at one of his Iron Man suits. He cut off mid-vulgarity when he saw me. "Didn't expect to see you today," he said. "Didn't you have that race yesterday?"

"Yeah, but today is a work day," I said. He rolled his eyes. I rolled mine back. "And I not only finished, I didn't even have to do any penalties," I allowed the brag. "So what's wrong with the suit?"

He fairly blistered the paint with the heat of his obscenities. Apparently there'd been a weapons system failure during his last mission and he was having trouble finding what caused it.

"Did you ask Ant Man to have a look around in there?" I asked practically, starting work on the arm for the inventory cart. He snorted and muttered and eventually stomped off to his office to make the call. I shook my head and checked my phone for an incoming text. Aslyn wanted to know how the race went and if I wanted company shopping for a prom dress. She'd just been asked to the junior prom, so we could go together. We decided to get started after I got off work, so that we could be sure to get good ones; I didn't want to spend too much money on it. She sent me the school policy outlining standards for dresses for homecoming and prom. There were a lot of regulations, but it basically boiled down to not looking like you were launching your career as a hooker. Or a courtesan, depending on the elegance of the dress. I snorted. As if I'd wear that.

"Nothing too plunging, no slits or hemlines higher than mid thigh, two piece dresses are allowed, but not more than two inches of midriff exposed, boobs must be covered, there has to be some back to the bodice," Aslyn summed up. "If you have questions, you can check with the authorities." I laughed as we went into the first store. There was a huge range of colors, fabrics, and styles. We blinked, stunned at the variety. There were slinky gowns like for pageants, short dresses that were cute and maybe meant for freshmen, and everything in between. We plunged in. I rejected mermaid skirts on the basis of difficulty in the bathroom and everything really sexy. "I don't want to look like I'm trying too hard," I said when she asked why. "Plus they're so tight I bet you can't eat anything at dinner before." I looked at her slyly. "I already know I'm getting lucky." She gasped and wanted to know more. I told about him asking whether I wanted him to get a hotel room, which she thought was so low pressure and nice.

"I'm going with Brad Campbell, who's nice and I'm sure will be fun, but I'm not giving it up to him," she said, pulling out a long red dress, shook her head, then held it up to me. I also shook my head and she put it back. "Don't you want to wait until you're in love?"

"No," I said, looking at a short dress; it looked like something a figure skater would wear. "I don't think it's that big a deal. I mean, yeah, it's going to take some nerve, doing something new and intimate, but it's just my body, doing something I haven't done before. And I've seen a doctor about birth control, no way do I want to have to worry about getting pregnant after all the pain and suffering of the ACTs." She picked out a long blue dress and we moved on. "I just don't think it has to be hearts and flowers and first love, is all. Everybody has different standards. And Roger is a great guy. I could do a lot worse."

She shuddered. "Last year Mary Wilson had prom sex with Paul Craig after close to a year of being together and he pretty much dumped her right after he came," he said, and we both made faces.

"Roger hasn't led me on, I know he's going to college next year and we won't be doing any long-distance relationship thing," I said, picking out a pretty pink dress. "So there's no pressure or anticipated emotional trauma, it should just be fun and a good start to my sex life." Then we dropped the subject and hit the dressing rooms. We didn't find anything in that store, and went home after one other.

The next weekend, Karen accompanied us to the next batch of stores. She'd been invited to her prom too. Mindy had been excited to hear I'd been asked and gave me an extra hundred for my budget, saying that dresses were expensive and there were shoes to consider as well, and gone to work so I couldn't give the money back. Aslyn found a beautiful pink lace dress with floral applique, long, off the shoulder little sleeves, A line, classy rather than sexpot. Karen, who was going with a friend, chose a sleek short dress that showcased her dancer's body, and I found kind of middle ground between the two; a strapless dress with a full short skirt, in plum floral satin with a dark blue band around the hem. It was much prettier than it sounds and showed off my toned legs, shoulders and arms. Then we went shopping for shoes. Roger was almost a foot taller than me, so I threw caution to the winds and got a pair of sandals with a neutral, silverish satin strap across the toes, rhinestone straps at the heels and around the ankles, a slight platform, and icepick heels. I was almost four and a half inches taller when I put them on. It was amazing to be so much taller. Brad was already shorter than Aslyn, so she went with a short kitten heel, and Karen, wary of twisting her ankle, went with flats. Not being terribly gifted, I made an appointment to get my hair styled together the day of--my hair was growing out nicely from the accident--and Mom sent down these really pretty silver dangly earrings. Aslyn offered to loan me an evening purse, and I was set.

Meanwhile, there was school to keep up with and the ACTs to anticipate. At work, it took Ant Man a few days, but he did find the cause of the malfunction. He must have a technical education as well, because he fixed it while he was crawling around in the suit. We got free photos of us in the race, and mine showed me leaping over the fire, a relieved look on my face, and me at the top of the rope, just after I'd smacked the bell with a triumphant yell. I think my aunt thought I was mentally ill for doing all that voluntarily, but Uncle Bucky was proud of the accomplishment, and Mr Stark said it showed good determination. The girls came out and said it was nuts, and Aslyn pointed out that Steve had come down with a strange crud afterward, along with an infected cut, probably from the mud. I shrugged. "When it was done, I was really raring to do the other two races, the Super and the Beast, but it didn't take long to come to my senses," I told them. "So I've done this big bad race, and now I can just sort of rest on my laurels there." Then there was the junior prom, and Aslyn sent us pictures. She looked gorgeous. The next week was our school's senior prom and Karen's junior prom, and I sent out pictures from the dance too. It was an excellent night.

The next Monday, the ACT scores were posted. I scored 34 out of 36. It wasn't terrible, but I'd hoped to do better. It was right in the middle of the range that MIT averaged with its incoming freshmen. "So you're still competitive," Aslyn said impatiently when I was moping. "And your SAT scores are really good. Most students take the SATs rather than the ACTs anyway. I read that somewhere."

"Do you think I should retake the ACTs? Try to do better?" I asked, and she rolled her eyes.

"No. You scored at least 34 in math, reading, and writing. Give it a rest." She pulled up MIT's admissions statistics on her phone and showed me. "You're going off the deep end here. Calm down." She tapped on her phone some more. "Look. Columbia, the big hometown U here, also very selective. Their admission stats. Your ACT is at the top of their range, your SAT better." She gripped my shoulder. "Get a grip." That's pretty much what everybody said, so I shut up about it. But honestly, MIT with their financial aid commitment was the best shot I had for coming out of college without a lot of student loans. My friends weren't as worried about it because their parents could contribute more, and Karen was still hoping for a place in a ballet company.

"That's a really good score," my aunt said encouragingly. "I think that's what Peter got, he's brilliant, and he was admitted to Columbia."

"How did you meet Peter?" I asked, and a trace of shiftiness passed over Emma's face.

"He was an intern here, and I used to wrangle the interns. His parents were killed in an accident right after he was born, and his aunt raised him. I took an interest in him," she shrugged. I let it drop. There was something secret about all this, but if Emma, who was notoriously frank, didn't want to talk about it, there was no point pursuing it. And heaven help me, but I was starting to feel like a sibling rivalry was developing, at least on my side. I recognized it from a lifetime of dealing with J.

All in all, I was grateful when finals were over. I went to Roger's graduation, then headed for home. My parents were thrilled with me, and i just wanted to bask in that for awhile. And, it must be said, I missed my pesky little brother. Although he wasn't actually little anymore; he'd had a big growth spurt and was quite a bit taller than me now although his muscle was still trying to catch up and he was a little gangly. He smirked down at me from his lofty height, but a lifetime of tormenting served me well. I still knew where he was ticklish.


	15. Analyzed

It was actually fun to hang out with J. He'd survived his freshman year just fine and was looking forward to being a sophomore. For once, I kept my mouth shut on my advice, which was to enjoy the hell out of it, because after that it's very stressful. He asked if I was looking forward to being a senior.

"Not really. I don't know," I said, chewing a hangnail. He gave me a look of disbelief.

"Well, I'll have to be applying for college," I said. "You're luckier than my friends, who have suffered this whole school year through my panic about colleges and majors and how to pay for college and test scores. And I have really good friends. It took a long time to find them, and nobody's first choice colleges are the same."

He nodded. "Still don't know what you want to study?"

"I do like engineering, but not robotics, and not necessarily mechanical or electrical engineering, and definitely not computer science," I said. "Mr Stark has said that if I get into MIT, which feels like a long shot to me, I can have a summer job each year and a job afterward, but I feel like I'd have to go where he's steering for me. And now I really want to go to MIT, and I kind of hate that he got me dreaming big because... it's me, and how the hell am I going to get a spot in that freshman class?"

J frowned. "What do you mean? You're not stupid." From J, that's like the highest praise possible.

"It seems like everybody who works in the tower is really smart, if not just flat out geniuses, and/or really talented at something. I'm not."

"You are really smart," he managed to force out.

"Did that hurt?" I asked, fascinated.

"Yeah," he said, then wiped his brow dramatically. I laughed. "Look, you're smart and you work harder than anybody I know. I don't know if you realize that that's important. Coach is always saying that talent only gets you so far. It's your work ethic that really pushes your success."

"So how's football?" I ask, diverted.

"It's fun, I really like it," he says. "But unless I have a lot more growth, I'm going to be on the small side, so I might be able to get some kind of scholarship out of it to college, but not much more."

"Does that bother you?"

"It did at first, but I started paying attention and seeing all these guys who retire from the NFL and they're damaged for life, look at Joe Montana. Or they have post-concussion syndrome. Even if I were big and talented enough, I don't think I want that for myself."

"So what would you do?" I asked him. Since he could first focus on TV, practically, he's been gaga for football.

"You can't laugh," he warned, and I nodded. That was our code for something really serious. "Well, since we met Uncle Bucky, I've been interested in mutations. So I'm thinking maybe medical research. But I'm also interested in superheroes. The Avengers book." I nodded. It had had a big impact on both of us. "The PTSD, the toll of that kind of public service. So maybe psychiatry?"

I turned that over. "That sounds really interesting," I said. "You're going to need the grades and test scores too. That's not a major you can get just anywhere."

"You don't think it's weird?" he asked. "Mom and dad think it's a phase."

"Well, it might be," I acknowledged. "But you've got some time to decide still. And it might be that this is exactly what you'll want to do and be really successful. You ought to do some research, find out where and if that's being studied. Contact people, asking for information and career guidance." I thought hard. "I think I heard the X-men do mutant research," I offered. "Aunt Emma has contacts there, I think."

"I guess I could ask her," he said, picking up a football and fiddling with it. "It's just...she kind of strikes me as being... I don't know. Not a cold fish, but... not very interested."

"She'll still give you the information," I said. I felt I knew her well enough to say that. "If she doesn't, though, go ahead and make contact on your own. I'm not her biggest fan right now. And I don't know if I should feel kind of... I don't know. Disregarded or something."

"Tell me," J said, looking interested.

"Not only can't you laugh, there's privileged information here that cannot be disbursed to the parentals," I warned. Both the parents were at work; J and I were due in the restaurant in a couple hours to help. J nodded and sat up.

"Uncle Bucky likes to check to see how well I'm coming with training by arranging these practice bouts from hell for me." I shook my head, still in disbelief. "First one was Thor, the second Wolverine."

"No way."

"Way. Thor is big and tough, but without the hammer he's not especially good. Wolverine is as crabby as the animal. He got me with his claws. He lost his temper and they came out."

"What the fuck?" J scowled. "You're my only sister. And you're not even of age yet. They shouldn't be using you like a test mouse or something."

"They have a gizmo that accelerates healing," I say. "Healed the cuts essentially in three days. So Bucky thinks I'm doing pretty good, and once when I was there, he asked me to show this guy, a few years older than me, maybe, how to use the heavy bag. He's this guy that Emma has practically adopted, and that makes Uncle Bucky his stepdad, pretty much. I heard something about this once, not since, and I kinda forgot about it because I never heard about him or met him. So I asked Bucky about it, just generally, and he blew me off. And when I asked Emma, she said that he was an intern at Stark Tech, she used to be in charge of the interns, and it's not a formal adoption, but pretty much. And that's it. I know there's more to it than that."

He pondered this. "I think the problem is that you're hurt they don't trust you enough to tell you the truth," J said accurately. "And it hurts to be excluded because it was really hard for you to make contact in the first place, and you've accepted them as family, you thought they had done the same with you. I think it's been hard for you to be by yourself, even with a host family." Sometimes I forget how perceptive he is. He tends to obscure it with a popular jock veneer. He paused, and a calculating look crossed his face. He opened his laptop. "There's a wiki," he muttered. I waited patiently. "You think this guy is in college?" he asked, and I nodded. Several minutes passed.

"Ok," he finally said. "This is a guess, but it fits our known data." I almost laughed at him; I've never seen him take anything but football and his social life so seriously. "This guy might be Spiderman." I gaped at him. "Look. Spiderman shows up several years ago. Most of his known sightings have been late in the afternoon or at night, which suggests that he's busy during the day. Like at school. And there's an audio clip from one of his first appearances; he sounds young, he looks gangly, like he's having a growth spurt. So the timeline could overlap, and he obviously knows the Avengers, if he's training there, he's in tight. Secret identities are serious business. I don't have a quarter million just laying around to pay the penalty for revealing it, not many people do. Maybe that's why they're not being very forthcoming with you." He reached over and messed up my hair.

"Look. I don't know what your life in New York is really like. But it seems to me like you're running around, trying to make all these people happy with you, and you're not getting a lot back. That Spartan race is one of the few things you've done this year just because you wanted to. And thanks for that, by the way. It makes me look tougher than I am, like I could do it too. Your boss is dangling promises he might not be able to deliver on, Bucky is treating you like a superhero, and Emma gives you cookies, light conversation, and that's about it. I'm just saying, maybe you could do with some distance. Your host family seemed really nice and they care about you. You know, you're only young once. Yeah, study all you want, but go out with your friends more. Have some fun. You live in New York! Get in a little trouble, but normal trouble, not chem lab trouble. There's more to life than school and work. College is important, but you're so stressed out about applications that you haven't even started yet. You're going to get ulcers or something. You might be working out too hard. You did when you were obsessing about dance." He studied me. "Maybe I really should go with psychiatry. I could study you to figure out the obsessive, one-track mind."

I batted at him. "Har har. Didn't you just tell me I'm not a lab mouse?"

"And what about that mutation business? Mom and Dad are kind of worried."

"Well, they think the DNA has stopped changing. When I get back, they want to test me to see if it's caused any changes."

"You don't have to do that either," he said. "It's your medical care. Don't let yourself be pushed into something you don't want to do. You like to please people. Don't let it get you into trouble."

"Aw, you do care," I said flippantly, to cover up an emotional swell I'm not used to feeling for J.

"I've only got the one sister," he said, equally lightly. "Be smart. You don't have to go to a top ranked college to be successful, and you shouldn't jump through hoops to make everybody happy. What makes you happy?"

"Sometimes I'm not exactly sure," I said slowly. Lately, what made me happy was my friends and Roger, and Roger would be leaving in July, going up to Pittsburg to learn the campus and city before classes. "When did you get so smart? Did a tackle shake loose your brain cells?" I asked flippantly, and J flipped me off.

"Yeah, all three of them," he said mockingly, and our pattern of amiable insults followed. Then we got a call from Mom and went into the restaurant early.

I went back to the city with mixed feelings. The town was getting smaller every time I came back; people were leaving because of the water quality issues and   
Mom and Dad were talking about leaving too. The trouble was that they'd lose a lot of money because nobody was buying the real estate. It made it even more important to me that wherever I went to college, that I had enough scholarships and grants and loans to cover it. J still had high school to complete. His football coach had been there forever and knew college recruiters all through New England and the mid-Atlantic region. No matter what J said, I knew he still wanted to play college ball and he'd probably be able to do it if he continued to improve like his coach thought he would. I was glad to be back in the city with my friends, but J had also given me a lot to think about regarding everything else.

I called Roger when I got back, and he had some news for me. Steve had been taken off the wait list at Carnegie Mellon so they were going up to spend the summer up in Pittsburg. Steve's stepdad had a friend who did construction and was giving them summer jobs. It was ok, it was just moving up the time table a bit. I joked about them running the Spartan race up there later in the summer, there was banter, and I wished him good luck at school and hoped he had a fun summer. After I got off the phone with him, I called Aslyn. She was sympathetic at the crimp in my summer plans, and we talked about a new guy she'd met at a party while I was gone. I agreed to a double date. Why not? All of a sudden space had opened up on my calendar and J did have a point. I didn't do much for fun.

Mr Stark was kind of hyperactive when I went in to work the next day, a little wild and maniacal. He confirmed that he'd gone out on a mission the week that I was gone, and I nodded. There was kind of a pattern. He went out to Avenge, then when he got back, he had trouble sleeping and went into kind of engineering overdrive. Then when his body had enough, he just sort of dropped wherever he was and slept for awhile. When that happened in the lab, I usually just put a blanket over him and was as quiet as I could be. Not that it really mattered; he slept hard. When he woke up, he always went for the coffee pot, so I switched out the bag of beans with a decaf bag. If I didn't, the cycle ramped up until I had to call Aunt Emma. She'd make him go take a break and I wouldn't see him for a couple of days. It was easier to remove a stimulus and get him to calm down naturally. Then I attended to the little inter-office mail I got. There was a letter for me from the Stark Foundation, later than expected because of the volume of applicants, informing me that I'd been awarded a scholarship of $50 000 a year for four years at the university of my choice. I smiled, excited. Twenty-five thousand dollars each semester would be huge. I had code to test for the inventory cart, so I worked quietly through the rest of the afternoon. Near the end of the day, the door opened and a man I'd never met came in and frowned when he saw Mr Stark sacked out over his bench. Then he saw me.

"Who are you? he asked absently, then "how long's he been like this?"

"I'm Alex, Mr Stark's lab assistant. He fell asleep around eleven this morning," I said quietly. Colonel Rhodes grunted. I noticed he had a gold ring like my boss when he began to fidget with it. I looked at the time. I only had about five minutes left, so I started to shut things down.

"What is that?" he asked me.

"It's a robot that will hopefully conduct inventory in the labs on its own," I said absently.

"Huh. Well, I need to talk to him, so you need to run along," he said, and reaching for his wallet, pulled out a couple of twenties. "Here, this should make up for whatever time you'll be missing." I just gave him a look and ignored the money. Forty bucks for five minutes of time? Ridiculous. I grabbed my bag and made for the bathroom. I'd been too absorbed in the testing to go since lunch.

Usually now I'd go down to the training room and Uncle Bucky and I would work out. Systema, so soothing. But Uncle Bucky was gone, field-testing some new equipment, and today, we were starting to investigate my DNA changes, so I was scheduled for the lab. They were going to take some baseline readings of my brain and then subject me to different stimuli to see if anything happened. Ah, science. So precise and planned.

I was nervous. What if they turned up something? Would they make me be a hero? I really didn't want to do that now, especially now, seeing the toll it took on Mr Stark. Of course, if he'd just see a shrink, he might be better off. I think he's got too many demons for the hero business. I took a deep breath and got a grip. They couldn't make me do anything. There wasn't a law or anything that said people with mutations had to work in civil defense, or however the government was classifying hero work these days.

After all the anticipation, the first session was kind of a bust. They decided to take all the baseline measurements, mental and physical, in case something shook loose after testing started. There were all sorts of tests of my brain's function and output and they tested my speed and endurance on the treadmill, my strength with weights, how hard I could hit, stuff like that.

I had to hustle then; Aslyn had set up the double date for this evening. We went to the restaurant together; it was quite a bit nicer than the ones I'd been to. She'd also gotten a Stark Foundation scholarship for $30 000 a year.

"It makes college seem more real," she said, and I agreed. Tests generated scores; this was a promise of substantial amounts of money so we could go do our things. Somewhere.

The boys were waiting for us, and Aslyn introduced me to her date first, a guy named Lewis who seemed nice, although not special. Well, it didn't matter, I wasn't the one seeing him. Then he introduced me to my date, a guy who was growing out of cute into genuine, big-time handsomeness, and I thought the night was looking up. Then he opened his mouth.

The guy practically oozed privilege and entitlement and flashed a black card at dinner like I was supposed to be impressed. The boys went to an exclusive prep school and liked to talk about school, like everybody does, as well as their familys' wealth. I tried to stay engaged and asked questions about their school, classes, what they were doing that summer (goofing off), and what my date liked to do. It was hard going with that last one, Damian didn't seem to have a lot of hobbies. Fortunately, Aslyn and Lewis seemed to have a lot to talk about.

"I almost forgot to tell you," Aslyn said to me in a break in conversation. "There's an organization my mom belongs to, prominent women in the city, they get together during the summer for a luncheon where they invite high school girls with a lot of promise, kind of an introduction and a chance to meet women in business and industry, maybe get a line on mentors. I'm going, and Mom put you and Rill down too, your invitation should be there in the next day or two." I perked up. That sounded good.

"That's so nice of your mom," I said.

"So you'll be joining an old girl's club?" Damian said jokingly, and Aslyn and I let that comment die. Lewis started to laugh but stopped when he saw the look on Aslyn's face. After dinner, we went dancing. Damian was pretty and quite fit, but his dancing was a little....spastic.

Aslyn and I went to the ladies' room after a few dances. "So I'm sorry about your date," she said.

I shrugged. "He's so pretty, if he just kept his mouth shut, I could at least drool a little. But it's all about his dad and their money. I have no idea what he likes to do or what he's like. Maybe all he's got is the family money. He might be interesting if he talked about anything else."

"Well, Wayne Enterprises, yeah, there's a lot of money there," Aslyn pointed out. "But yeah, I know what you mean. I appreciate you going out with him." We went back out; at least when Damian was strutting on the dance floor, he kept his mouth shut. We made it an early night; Aslyn and I both had to work the next morning and I got away before Damian could ask me for my phone number, if he had meant to, anyway. Maybe he'd been bored too.

When I got up to the lab, I checked email; a note from the doctors said that my baselines were higher than expected and they were looking forward to testing me today. Yay. I'd almost forgotten that. I got back to work on the robot; there was an error in the code somewhere and I wanted to get more information before I reported that to Mr Stark.

He came into the lab not long after, accompanied by Colonel Rhodes, with whom he was arguing. He caught sight of me working on the bot and walked over briskly. "My god, aren't you done with that yet?" he inquired irritably.

"There's an error, I wanted to find out more--"

"I know there's an error, I put it there," he said impatiently. "I've been waiting for you to find it." He pulled up the program on the computer quickly and stabbed his finger at a line of code. "There. Right there. Don't you see it?"

"I see code," I said, getting a cold feeling inside. "You know I'm not a programmer. I don't know what that means. You know I'm testing the code by running the application."

He rubbed his face. "I really don't have the time to watch baby steps," he muttered. "You've spent too much time on this project, which frankly was a mediocre idea to begin with. I could have done it when I was seven. I don't think this is working out. Grab your stuff." I stared at him in shock. "Come on," he said briskly.

"Tony," Colonel Rhodes started to say, but he cut off his friend. "I'll be right back." I trailed him down to HR, where he directed one of the people there to reassign me to biology. Then he left. Looking puzzled, the woman did some stuff on the computer, took my ID badge to change my access to include the biology unit, and took me down there, where she introduced me to the head of the lab who was looking frazzled.

"I don't need another lab assistant," Dr Cassell said to the HR woman. "We're full up."

"Mr Stark personally assigned her," she said, and that stopped the argument. He signaled me to follow him to his office, where he sifted paper and frowned.

"Like I said, we have all our lab assistants and there's not a lot of extra work," he said absently, then scrawled on a piece of paper. "I can give you work in water quality testing and there's some tasks that need doing in the greenhouse. I don't know what your hours were before, but you can start here tomorrow, you'll be working eight to noon." He handed me the paper with a schedule on it, part time, fifteen hours a week. "Report to Chris Roberts for water quality and Faith MacAllister for botany." Then he shooed me out.

I called the elevator numbly and pressed the button for the training room, wanting to see if Uncle Bucky was around yet. The button lit red. No clearance. I hit the lobby instead and ran right into Aslyn. "My god, are you ok, Alex?" she asked urgently, drawing me away from the elevators. "What's wrong?"

"Mr Stark said I was too slow, that my project was mediocre, and he didn't have time for it anymore," I whispered. "He reassigned me to biology. My hours have been cut in half. Less than half, actually."

She stared at me aghast, and gave me a big hug. "The school's open for summer school," she said quickly. "Check and see if the careers counselor is there, see if there are other jobs you can apply for. That is fucking ridiculous." She brushed a tear off my cheek, then rooted in her bag for a packet of Kleenex. "I'm sorry, I've got to get going. But I'll call on my break."

First I went home and cried, got it out of my system, then went to the school. Sure enough, the careers counselor was there. Ms Stewart was new last semester and enthusiastic, frowning when I told her my hours had been cut and that I was looking for another job. She pulled up my records. "Well, HR at Stark Tech said that your work has been excellent, we require the employers we work with to keep us posted," she told me. "It shouldn't be a problem to get you a second job, or maybe, depending on the employer, we can get full time for the summer and part time during the school year if you want to move on from Stark Tech. Go ahead and look through the listings," she advised. "I'll also reach out to some of our other employers, see if they've had some needs come up." She looked at me. "But I'm puzzled about this thing at Stark Tech. You've gotten sterling reviews from them, you're listed as having been working in chemistry, we were notified about the lab accident, then they said you were working in engineering. But they don't take student placements there. And from the looks of you, this was a shock."

"After the accident, Mr Stark offered me a job in his personal lab, which is where he mostly does robotics. I thought it was going fine, but this morning he said I was too slow and... I was reassigned." I let out a long breath and blinked a lot. "So he took me down to HR, told them to put me in biology. But they say they're full, and there's not enough work. So here I am."

She looked furious. "That is not ok, our students are not to be treated like that." Then her voice softened. "Did he... make advances to you?"

"Ew, no," I recoiled. Mr Stark was old enough to be my grandpa, gross. She relaxed.

"Good, because that's a whole other can of worms. You're pretty and bright, so I wanted to be sure that nothing improper was going on."

There was a lot that wasn't standard going on, but it had nothing to do with Mr Stark hitting on me.

"I'm going to be talking with their HR; if he's just tossing lab assistants around on a whim without making sure there's work for them, I don't know if we'll be working with them anymore." She tapped her pen on the desk, looking at me. "Before coming here, I used to work at Wayne Enterprises. We didn't recruit from high schools much because high school students can be flaky, but since coming on board here I think that we might not have been drawing from the right pool of applicants. I'm going to call there, see if they have anything open. Come by tomorrow, and I'll let you know what I hear. You've had a big shock today," she said nicely. I thanked her, she'd been really nice and helpful, and started off home. I didn't know what else to do. Maybe I should have called Aunt Emma, but what was she going to do, yell at Mr Stark? I was going to have to tell my parents. I groaned, and decided that that could wait a couple of days. I needed to let the humiliation wear off a little first.

I was almost home when Ms Stewart called. I had an interview at Wayne Enterprises in an hour. Could I make it there in time? If I hurried, I could. I ran home, changed into a nice outfit, and raced out the door.

I got home three hours later and opened my laptop.


	16. Enterprises

I called Ms Stewart as I waited for the computer, telling her that I'd been hired at Wayne Enterprises and that I started day after tomorrow, thanking her for getting me the interview.

"What are they going to have you do?"

"Well, they're doing some work with climate change there, and because I want to take the Earth Sciences class next year, they pulled in one of their researchers who wants some help. I'll be doing a lot of work helping prepare his work for publication, proofreading, but also helping a little with his models. Dr Reynaud is a leading researcher in greenhouse gasses, so this is amazing." I paused. "It's happened so fast, but I'm looking forward to this. I made sure he knows that I don't have any experience in this area, so he knows what he's getting."

"Good, good," she said. "I'm pleased that it's worked out so well. It's a little surprising that it happened so fast."

"Dr Reynaud said that there wasn't any point in dithering," I said, and she laughed and told me to keep her informed.

Then I emailed Aslyn, telling her that I had a new job, it would take some time to explain, and to call me when she got off work. Then I wrote a resignation letter and took it and my ID badge back to the tower. The woman who had taken me down to biology looked puzzled. I took a certain amount of pleasure telling her that I needed full time work this summer and that I didn't really appreciate having my hours cut with no notice. I knew it wasn't her fault, but I wanted somebody there to know it wasn't ok with me. She didn't say anything, just had me sign a bunch of papers, told me that my last check would be mailed to me, and took my badge. She had a security guard escort me since I no longer had a badge to get the elevator to work. I waved to Barney as I crossed the lobby and bumped into Natasha at the door. She looked at the guard and me, then the guard again.

"So what's going on here, Alex?" she asked.

"I quit," I said steadily. Her eyebrows shot toward her hairline.

"Why, if I may ask?"

"Mr Stark said I was slow and my work mediocre, so he had me reassigned to biology, only they don't have enough work and I'd only be working half as much. So I quit." Her eyes got big.

"James isn't going to like this," she murmured. "Does Emma know?"

"Forget my uncle, I don't like it," I snapped. "I don't deserve to be treated like that. I don't know if she knows or not. What's she going to do, anyway? It's not her company."

"Don't be hasty," she said. "Half a job is better than none, right? We can go back up to HR and--"

"I found a job," I said flatly. "The careers counselor at school helped me. I had an interview earlier."

"Doing what, retail? Fast food? It's a waste of your time."

"I'm working in environmental science. Don't worry, I signed the non-disclosure agreement in HR, but there's nothing to worry about. I won't be making solutions or trying to learn robotics, so there's no overlap, no way to use whatever knowledge I gained during my employment here."

"This seems fishy," she said.

I frowned. "The company is legitimate and yeah, the interviewing went faster than expected, but I met the scientist I'll be working with and he signed off on it. Excuse me, I need to go."

I was about halfway home when my phone rang. It was Aunt Emma. I didn't want to deal with this on public transportation, so I let it go to voicemail. Mindy was home early; she was getting ready to go out to LA for a couple weeks to work on a project. "Alex, honey, are you ok? You look really wan," she said, testing my forehead.

"It's been a long day," I said, and gave her a recap. She was absolutely furious with Mr Stark and offered to help me find a job. Then I told her about going to see the counselor and the interview and quitting Stark Tech.

"You have been busy," she said, and offered me a cup of tea. I'm not much of a tea drinker, but she liked black tea with a little milk and sugar, and I could get behind that too. Then she called Sam, recapped my recap, and asked if he could poke around a little to make sure things were really on the up and up. We talked about other things, including her trip, until Sam called back about an hour later. I felt a lot calmer by then.

Wayne Enterprises was clean, as expected, Ms Stewart had no criminal record or troublesome financials, and Dr Reynaud was an internationally respected climate scientist; he gave speeches all over the world, always had something being published in one journal or another. "He probably needs more than one proofreader," Sam said, "but there's nothing shady about him."

"I feel better now," Mindy said after we hung up. "This is upsetting to me, I can't imagine how awful it is for you."

"It was really humiliating," I said in a small voice, and she pulled me in for a hug and I had a little crying jag.

"But what he said wasn't true," she said soothingly. "Considering that you were learning robotics on the fly with no formal instruction, I think you were doing really well. You were finding ways to make it work. And for my money, it's better for my coworkers to go slowly when they're not sure about something so that there isn't a big mess later on. Mr Stark sounds psychotic." Then she handed me my mail, which I'd forgotten in all the upset. The invitation that Aslyn had referenced was there, and Mindy was excited for me, telling me that it was a highly respected organization and a great introduction for young women to New York's female economic, business, and academic leaders, which often crossed into the kind of society that you can find in newspapers still. 

My phone rang again, and she told me to go answer it, she was sure I needed to talk to my friends and had I told my parents yet?

It turned out to be Emma again, and she wanted me to come back to the tower and get everything resolved, Mr Stark would apologize, blah blah.

"I can't do that," I said simply. "I got a new job. Full time this summer and as many hours as I want during the school year."

"What?" she came alert and asked for details. I gave her the bare outline. It might be paranoid, but she was on Mr Stark's side in almost everything.

"Wayne Enterprises?"

"The whole thing is legit, Sam checked it out." I was fatigued and didn't want an argument. "It's not related to anything I did at the tower, so Mr Stark doesn't need to worry about any low-level industrial espionage." She was silent for a few moments, then asked if I was still coming to lunch on Saturday.

"I don't know what my schedule is going to be like yet," I said honestly. I was feeling some resentment; she hadn't even asked how I was. On that unsatisfying note, we hung up. Aslyn called, conferencing in Karen and Rill, who were all worried, and I told my story again. They cheered when I said I already had another job, which made up for Emma's lack of interest. This was a much better conversation and I felt uplifted. Then I turned my computer back on so I could RSVP for the invitation.

"Better you than me," Karen said sincerely, but Rill and Aslyn were as excited as I was. Then Sam was home with dinner and we hung up. Over dinner, he said that he'd made some calls too, speaking with Wayne Enterprises HR as well as Ms Stewart personally. It turned out that she'd worked in HR at Wayne, but like other people, found that she wanted to have more of an impact so she went back to school for a teaching credential and found herself at Midtown in the careers counseling office. So she was exactly what she had said, and Sam said that she was really mad about how I'd been treated and intended to complain. The HR department said that while the hiring process was accelerated, Ms Stewart had assured them that I took my work seriously, that I'd been treated unfairly at my last job, and vouched for me, and Dr Reynaud had taken a liking to me. Sam smiled and put down a book by my plate, it was a copy of the MLA system of citation, which is what Dr Reynaud used for his books; scientific journals all seemed to have their own wrinkles.

"So after investigation, it looks like your guidance counselor just wanted to help you out and you got lucky over at Wayne," he said. "She pulled a string to get you the interview, which was scheduled so fast basically because they had a time available then, but you got the job on your own." He patted my head and both Sam and Mindy smiled at me. I won't lie, that felt good to hear. After dinner, I asked Mindy if she needed anything for her trip, but she said it was all covered. So then I had no more reasons to delay and called my parents.

Uncle Bucky had actually beaten me to the punch, it turned out. He'd tried to call, apparently, but I wasn't picking up, so he called them, hoping I had some answers to what the hell had happened. I could tell my parents pretty much all of what had happened during my time at Stark Tech (barring mutant fight club) and they were spitting mad at Mr Stark, but really pleased that I'd gotten another job. I told them what Sam had said about his investigation, and they were relieved, even more so when I said that most of what I was going to be doing was proofreading and, apparently, checking citation.

"Nobody wants to be a plagiarist," my dad said lightly. They did what they could to boost my self-esteem after the smack it had taken that morning, then we hung up and I stood to do some stretching. I was tense and achy from being tense almost all day. I heard the phone ring in the living room--Sam and Mindy still had a landline--and figured it was probably my parents. I opened the door and listened enough. Yep. I closed the door quietly and finished, then turned on Pandora to listen to some music.

The phone rang again and it was my uncle. He was still in the field for whatever, but the first thing he asked was if I was ok, and the second was what had happened. "Ignore what Stark said," he said after I'd finished. "You're smart, careful, and thorough, and those are great qualities. He's got his head so far up his ass that he's probably breathing shit. Take tomorrow for yourself. Sleep in. Do whatever teenage girls do, then go to your new job the next day and dazzle them with your work ethic. I told Emma to leave you alone. I'll take care of Stark when I get back."

"Don't kill him, Uncle Bucky," I said, yawning, and apologized. "He's not worth getting caught."

"Sweetie, back when I did that, they never found the bodies unless I wanted them to. But no, I just plan to make him regret what he did to you. Now get some sleep, this has been a tough day."

I felt a lot better after this conversation, then I remembered the scholarship letter, which I had forgotten about in all the fuss. I took it out to Sam for his opinion.

"Now I'm worried that I won't get the scholarship," I said, biting the inside of my cheek. They both read the award letter.

"I don't think that's a concern; this is a document from the Stark Foundation, which is not actually administered by him," Sam said. "This is a notification, and here on the CC, it shows that your school has been notified and there's a web link for instructions when you're filling out your financial aid paperwork for college." He sighed. "It's a generous scholarship, but given the amount of money they award annually, it's just a drop in the bucket. And he wouldn't dare be so petty as to try to deny you this scholarship, not after what he just did. If he tries, there are things we can do, legally." He waved it. "But let me take this to work tomorrow, I'll make a copy of it and call the Foundation to be sure there won't be any trouble." I thanked them both and said I was going to make an early night, and told Mindy I hope she had a great trip. She gave me a hug and I got ready for bed. 

The next morning I did indeed sleep in. I had a text from J: Proud of U 4 standing up 4 urself. Then I met Karen for lunch; she was taking ballet classes five mornings a week. We went to Central Park and ambled around, running into some of her classmates from school and hung out for awhile. I went home for dinner with Sam, who told me there was nothing to worry about with the scholarship, and we watched a couple episodes of the BBC's second series of Sherlock. 

Then next morning, we took the subway together; Wayne Enterprises was on the same line as his law firm. I kind of felt like a little kid being dropped off at school, but at the same time, I liked the support.


	17. Unexpected

I went in and the security guard called HR for me. A guy who looked like a high school student came to get me; he was the chatty type and he was indeed working there over the summer. He led me to the same office where I'd interviewed yesterday (only yesterday?), where I showed my social security card and drivers license and got all my paperwork taken care of, my ID badge made, and policies reviewed. The HR man smiled at me as he peeled off a bright pink post-it from the file cover. "One more stop and we'll take you to Dr Reynaud's office," he said with satisfaction, and led me out, down the hall, and to an elevator. We went all the way to the top, and I started to get a bad feeling.

I followed the HR guy down a hall-nice, but not overly plush--to a waiting area with a personal assistant. She nodded at him, sized me up, taking the file from the HR guy, and tapping on the door before going inside. I heard a murmur of voices, and to my surprise, Damian trailed the assistant out. He had a sulky look on his face which turned into surprise when he saw me, but before he could say anything, the assistant told me to go on in.

It wasn't a big surprise at this point to see Mr Wayne behind a big wood desk. He stood as I walked toward him and gestured to a seat. The office was nice, everything looked well-made and quietly expensive, but nothing was flashy, as you might expect the office of such a powerful man to be. The only real personal touches on display were two degrees from Yale, a bachelors and a JD, nicely framed, a picture of Damian, and a picture of a younger Mr Wayne with three other kids, all with dark hair. Mr Wayne himself was physically powerful; his tailor must be a magician to make his suit fit over broad shoulders and a tiny waist without exaggerating anything or looking ridiculous. He wore a light musk scent, which seemed strangely one-dimensional for a sophisticated man. "Have a seat, Ms Barnes," he said, and I slid the messenger bag off my shoulder and perched in a chair, back straight like I was in the principal's office. 

He studied me, and his impassive face cracked a hint of a smile. "No, I usually don't meet new interns on their first day," he said. "But then, there's been an unusual amount of activity regarding your hire." I frowned. "Last night I had a call from Emma Harrington-Barnes, who claimed to be your aunt. We had a conversation about your employment here. Then Tony Stark called, saying that there'd been a misunderstanding and it would be smoothed out so you wouldn't be working here. My HR department reported that one Sam Quick, who is in loco parentis, called to verify that the job offer was legitimate." I cringed at what he said about Emma and Mr Stark. "Perhaps you'd like to tell me what's been going on." There was no judgment in his tone, and although I felt he was taking my measure, his gaze wasn't overly curious or demanding. It was a nice change from my previous employment.

"I was a lab assistant at Stark Tech," I said quietly. "I worked in Mr Stark's lab, and he had me working on a project, which he wanted me to do so he could write a good letter of recommendation when I start to fill out college applications next semester. He came in, said that...he didn't have time for the project anymore, and took me down to HR to have me reassigned to another lab. But they already had enough help and my hours were cut in half. I'd been working full time, depending on it. I ran into a friend of mine on the way out and she told me that the school's careers counselor might be working since it was open for summer school, so I went there, told her what happened, and she was able to get me an interview here." I figured he could find out for himself what happened here in his own company. He nodded.

"This project, what was it?"

"It was a robot that would do inventory in like a chemistry or robotics lab on its own by weighing parts. I'm not a computer person, so Mr Stark wrote the code. All I had to do was assemble and test it."

"That sounds interesting."

"Well, I only had about a week to come up with the idea, but honestly, I don't know if I could have come up with anything better if I'd had more time. Robotics isn't really my thing."

"And what were you doing with the robot yesterday?"

"I was testing it, running it through some commands. I thought there was a bug in the program and wanted to find its parameters before reporting it to Mr Stark. I'd put the balance and the arm I'd built onto a cart, hooked up the computer on the shelf below. and the motor below. He came into the lab, was irritated that I hadn't found the flaw, which apparently he put in as a challenge."

"What did he say to you?"

I dropped my eyes to the floor. Nice. Hand-scraped cherry that had been there long enough for the color to develop with exposure to light, no area rug to soften it. "He said that I was too slow, that the project was mediocre and he could have whipped it out when he was still a kid," I said softly. It still really hurt.

There was a brief silence. I was still absorbed in the floor. "If you have a host family, where are you from originally?" he asked, moving on. "What brings you to the city?"

"The aptitude tests that they gave us in school showed that I'm strong in science and engineering. I like science. So my folks worked with the school and they found Midtown here, they have students come from all over, and they had families willing to be hosts. Sam and Mindy have been fantastic. I'm from Dimock, in Pennsylvania. My folks and little brother are still there."

"So Emma's your aunt?"

"By marriage," I refined his statement. That put another small smile on his face.

"Stark seemed certain that you'd be quitting here pretty soon," he observed.

I bit my tongue to prevent myself from cursing. It wasn't professional. "It wouldn't be the first time Mr Stark has been mistaken." My voice was hard.

"Even if he apologizes, reinstates your work?"

"I think Mr Stark is too... mercurial for me to be happy working for him. I don't need to be worrying if my boss is going to have another temper tantrum that puts me out of work. I need a reliable job."

"Do you think you'll be happy moving from a lab to paperwork?" he said, genuinely curious, it seemed to me.

"Science isn't all lab work," I pointed out. "I presume in college I'll be writing more involved lab reports for class, and there are term papers to look forward to. Learning how to conduct research better, seeing how articles are written to make them suitable for publication, getting familiar with different styles of citation can only be beneficial. The subject matter is interesting and really important to us all, and Dr Reynaud seems nice. It's so exciting to think I could be working for an expert like him. I'm looking forward to learning a lot."

He nodded. "He is nice, and patient, and he enjoys interacting with young people who are interested in science so you should do well there." He paused. "Tony Stark is an expert, internationally recognized."

I flushed. Shit. No way was I going to say that Mr Stark acted more like a spoiled kid rather than a reliable adult. "Yes, but... this is exposure to a different facet of expertise, the publication of knowledge. Science progresses best with the free exchange of information, and you've got to be able to see the data to evaluate it, try to replicate it."

He laughed. A rich sound that came straight from his belly. "So we've established that you're tactful and polite and nobody's fool. My personal opinion is that you're in a diminishing pool of teenagers who respect authority and it's difficult for you to act against authority figures, but you were brave when a situation went south on you." He studied me again. "You're upset that people tried to pressure me into firing you before you even had a chance to screw up." I tried hard not to scowl. "Here's what I think. Your aunt told me about the accident in the chemistry lab, how they detected changes in your DNA, all that. I know your aunt socially," he said, as my face got grimmer despite my efforts. "Even dated her once. Worst date ever," he said, shrugging. "Most of it was my fault, but she does have that little habit of throwing barbs into her conversation now and then. She may not be an active Avenger, but she's still in that fold and has given into that slightly paranoid groupthink they have over there. I told her that it seems like you've been mistreated over there and you could benefit from a more stable working environment and more reliable supervision, especially since, for the time being, you're still a minor and in high school." My eyes got wide. I couldn't imagine Emma being happy at being told that. "I told Stark that he's an idiot, that he needs to control his temper, that employees are a valuable resource not to be mistreated, and that your employment was your own business. If he continues to try to interfere, you should let your host family know, because that could be pursued legally," he advised me. "In the final analysis, you don't have to worry about outside influences on your job here or interference from me. You're as free to succeed or fail as any other employee. Tom Reynaud thinks you have a lot of potential and a lively intellect, which will help you in your work there immeasurably. I expect, given reports of your previous work, that you'll continue to apply a strong work ethic, which will benefit you and this company."

I nearly melted with relief. "Thank you, sir." I rubbed my head where a little headache had sprung up. "Where I come from, if you do anything out of the ordinary, your parents have been called before you get home. I thought that in this city, of all places, that wouldn't happen."

He gave that slight smile again. "It probably wouldn't have if you'd gone to work at some place like McDonalds or Forever 21, you'd have been making some money but you'd have been bored stiff and you might have gone back to Stark Tech. But your job here should keep you reasonably challenged, you'll be learning, and I'm not bragging when I say it will look good on your college applications." Then the smile disappeared. "I'm not winning any father of the year awards here, but I do know that kids shouldn't be treated the way Stark treated you. Do you want to be a hero?"

"No," I said. "I have a strong self-preservation instinct. It's not that I don't want to help people, it's just that I don't want to turn myself into a target doing it. That's why I don't tell anybody that Bucky is my uncle."

"I respect that," he said, then stood. I stood up too and he came around the desk to lead me to the door. "So how do you know my son?"

Damn. So close to escape. "Blind date," I said succinctly.

"Ah." He paused with his hand on the doorknob. "What did you think?" I wanted to groan. How do you tell a dad his kid is a twit?

"He's very generous," I said truthfully, he'd paid for our dinners, the cover at the club, and our beverages; then, scrambling for something else nice to say, all I could come up with was "he's very handsome." Mr Wayne sighed.

"Could be worse," he said to himself, then opened the door and showed me out. "It was nice meeting you, Ms Barnes. Good luck."

"Thank you, Mr Wayne," I said, and followed the HR guy out. Whew.

We went back down the floor where Dr Reynaud worked and the bathrooms and break room were pointed out. Unlike the tower, which was mixed-use, this building was strictly for Wayne Enterprises business, and my pass was not restricted. "You might be asked to go down to records or to another lab to pick up something," the HR guy said, shrugging. "Our employees are trusted."

Dr Reynaud was pleased to see me and handed me a card that had login information on it; while I'd been speaking with Mr Wayne, the IT person had set me up with access to the Wayne mainframe and given me an email address. His lab had several components and I had a desk to myself in the biggest room. "It's your desk, Alex," he said, puttering around. "I finally gave up trying to do everything myself and requested an aide last month. Feel free to personalize it." I wasn't sure whether I'd prefer to proofread on the computer, so he gave me a printout of the first article in my queue and showed me how to access it on the computer. He showed me other programs that I'd be using but I'd be eased into those. This article would be using MLA citations, and I was to check for spelling, grammar, punctuation, comprehension, that the citations were correct, and I was supposed to read the source material where it was cited to be sure it said what he said it said. He directed me to the supply room so I could select pens and whatnot, asked me to pick up some cartridges for the lab's printer, and turned me loose, telling me to ask if I had any questions.

I decided to do the easy part first and rummaged in my bag for my copy of the MLA rules. I'd reviewed them so I had a pretty good idea of what was expected for this system of citation, and Dr Reynaud, as I kind of expected, made very few errors. He came over a few hours later to remind me to take my lunch break and showed me a reminder alert, similar to what they had in the tower. He smiled to see my MLA copy. I kept my finger in it as I read, ready to reference it at each citation.

I gave him a sheepish grin. "It's what I do with my Larousse dictionary when I'm doing my French homework. It feels more efficient to have my reference ready to go."

"You're taking French?" he brightened, then said something in French. I asked him to repeat it slower.

"I'm better at reading than speaking," I admitted.

"This is good," he said. "I work with colleagues throughout the world, and most of us speak French if not English."

"My French teacher will be delighted at the extra practice I'll get."

He smiled. "I'm bilingual, my parents were French. They came here after World War II. They weren't partisans, but they aided the resistance in small ways, passing messages, that kind of thing. They were in Paris, and it was hard to stay free and actively resist. Plenty of people collaborated, and my mother was picked up by the Gestapo, a case of mistaken identity, but it turned out that she'd been informed on by a neighbor, someone they had been friendly with." He shook his head, his smile fading. "After the war, some people, mostly women who had had relations with the Germans, were punished, their hair all cut off, paraded in the streets, subjected to abuse. Their neighbor was wealthy, a man with some influence in the new French regime. Nothing was ever done to him. My mother was furious. Some of the women used intimate connections with the Nazis for their own benefit, but many others were just trying to survive the war. It sometimes wasn't safe to turn down a German who expressed interest, and accepting the protection from one of them kept others at bay. They got more food too, which provoked jealousy." He shrugged. "They decided to emigrate, start fresh." I listened, interested in this history, which provided a personal insight into what was presented in school as a geo-political conflict. "I was born here. They always viewed that as cementing their new start in life, but French was always spoken in the home."

"I am not fluent," I warned him, and he smiled.

"So this will help you, expand your vocabulary, give you practice," he said genially. 

At the end of the day, Dr Reynaud and I worked out a summer schedule where I would work full time during the week, and the option was there on the weekend to come in for extra time when I wanted or if he needed some urgent help. He also gave permission for me to take time off in July to go home for my birthday, saying that I should have this time with my family. When I left for the day, I felt pretty good and the upset from the day before was fading. When I left the building, I started down the street toward the subway station and was startled when someone fell in beside me. I smiled when I saw my uncle.

"How was your first day?" he asked, keeping his head down slightly. It was an unconscious mannerism that helped deflect attention.

"Calm," I said after a little thought. "My boss is really nice. I think I'm going to like working for him. Plus he writes in French and some of his correspondence is in that language, so I'm going to get practice there too."

"Didn't know you wanted that," he said. "We can converse too," he continued in French. I knew he was multilingual as a result of his slavery, but this was the first time he'd demonstrated. He seemed happy, so I didn't want to tell him that I didn't really actually want more practice. Sometimes it was hard enough expressing myself in English.

"I'm not very good," I warned, also in French.

"Great, this will help you," he said, happily. Great. Sure.

He offered to treat me to dinner, and mercifully, at the restaurant I got a reprieve from French. "Reynaud is very well liked and respected in his field," he mentioned after we ordered. "He works with data generated by agencies like NASA and the EPA as well as companies and agencies around the world." I smiled at him. Of course he would have checked.

Then we got down to what had really happened yesterday; I'd only given him a brief description, and and his eyes slit when I told him exactly what Mr Stark had said to me. "That fucker," he said conversationally. "You aren't slow in either of his two possible meanings. You leave him to me, sweetie."

"I was planning to," I said, nibbling on the bread. "But he called Mr Wayne last night, I think he tried to get me fired."

"What?" His tone was clipped. I told him everything about about the interview, including Emma's role.

I thought he was struggling to restrain his language when the waiter arrived with the entrees. "It's obviously better that you're working where you are," he finally said. "Don't come by the tower anymore," he said. "I don't want you anywhere near it. We'll meet elsewhere. Do you want to continue training? I'll understand if you don't."

"I do, I was going to look for a boxing gym," I said. "But Systema's soothing in its own way. Plus I get to beat people up." He started to laugh.

"That's my girl," he said affectionately. "Don't worry, sweetie, I'll be talking to Emma and Stark both. That is unacceptable, especially for Emma. You're family, she should be supporting you. She's stood up for her son often enough, and he's not even blood. Maybe this is Stockholm syndrome, " he mused, frowning. "What did you think of Wayne?" he asked, changing the subject.

"He seems nice," I said cautiously. "It's a lot of fuss to have to deal with, just for one lowly intern." That was my title there. "He seems to have a good sense of humor, even if he buries it." I took a bite of my fish. "I went out with his son once on a blind date."

"Damian? Skeezy little creep," was my uncle's analysis.

"He might have improved since you met him," I said cautiously. "He's just overprivileged and boring now." That got a genuine laugh.

"Wayne's never seemed to have much of a sense of humor," he said, returning to the subject.

"I think he was amused--not by me, per se, but the situation," I reflected. "He seemed nice. He certainly didn't have to let me know what had been going on. He's got a great tailor, but his cologne didn't match the rest of him."

"He doesn't wear aftershave," my uncle said matter-of-factly.

"There was a musk smell in the office, and Damian wears Ambre Topkapi, which isn't at all musky," I reported. He wasn't heavy-handed with it either, something I'd appreciated on the date.

"A light musk?" Bucky asked, and I nodded. He sighed. "Emma developed a truth serum that she used when she was Poppy," he told me. "Put it in a musk base and used it as a perfume until she made it too strong. Wayne did her a big favor when the military was threatening her, she might have made him some as payback. He didn't ask you any personal questions, did he?"

"No, it was all about the ruckus over work." I thought back. "I didn't feel like I had to tell him anything, but I felt comfortable telling him what he asked about. It was mostly about facts, he didn't ask my opinion about much."

"The serum is very effective," he said straight out. "Does it bother you that he might have used it on you?"

I took some time to think about that, swirling broccoli around in a butter/white wine/garlic sauce. "I feel like I should, but not much, really," I said eventually. "It would be a different story if he'd asked more personal questions. I guess I feel like he has a right to ask my side of the story of what happened, given that it's gotten so bizarre. And, frankly, I'm glad to know what's going on and being given a chance to talk about it."

"Well, in the spirit of being up-front in this whole mess, I'm going to be calling Wayne myself, but in a friendly way," he said. "I appreciate his handling of this situation."

I finished and put my silver down, closing the plate. "Before everything got crazy, I got a letter from the Stark Foundation," I told my uncle quietly. "I got a scholarship from them, $50 000 a year for four years. Sam says that it's a legally binding offer, but I wondered if you thought Mr Stark might... act up about it."

"I'll make sure he doesn't," he said firmly, then he scowled. "He gave Peter half a million, no strings attached."

"It's going to be a big help," I said. "And it's hopefully just the first scholarship. Most of them haven't opened for me yet."

"I don't want you to worry about it," he said, as he also finished. "I make a good salary, most of which is tucked away, and I got quite a payday of back pay from the Army once I was repatriated. I was going to wait and see what you needed before offering, but I want to contribute to both your and Jaimez's college education."

"I don't want to hit you up for money," I said, startled.

He smiled and patted my hand. "You're family, and I'm not going to have kids myself, so it'll all going to you kids and your parents anyway. This way I can watch it be useful." I sniffed a little.

"Thanks, Uncle Bucky," I said, and his expression went fond.

"You're a good kid, and I'm really glad you tracked me down," he said gruffly. Then we split a dessert and he saw me home.

The next day was also calm and low key. I realized that it was going to take some time to get used to the less aggressive pace and quieter personalities I was encountering. Dr Reynaud also had an ego, but he kept it checked, and I felt like even at his worst, he wouldn't be a full-tilt diva. Once again, Bucky met me after work, this time with Torburn, who wagged his tail so hard it created an appreciable breeze.

"Neither he nor Sigurd likes what's gone on," Bucky said as I got the ear skritching going and gave Torburn a big hug. Torburn mumbled at me and I shook my head.

"I don't understand what you're saying at all, pup," I said, kissing the soft fur on his head, and he whoofed in resignation and fell in alongside me.

"I've arranged with Thor to continue training you at the Asgard embassy," Bucky said as we started off again. "I'm going to train him and his brother there, some of his guards, if they're interested. Most of them won't be. They think they're better than Midgardians," he said matter-of-factly. I rolled my eyes. "You can spar with them if you want," he continued, "but you don't have to. I realize that I pushed you into sparring with Thor and Logan, and I don't want to make this something that you end up disliking and resenting. I'm just really proud of all you've achieved."

I took his arm. "Let's wait and see. It is confidence building to realize that I could hold my own against them." He smiled and we walked on.


	18. Lessons

We walked over to the Asgard embassy since I wasn't familiar with it and Bucky was due to teach. We chatted about my uneventful day. "You seem a lot more relaxed," he said in approval.

"Dr Reynaud is a lot quieter than I'm used to," I said. "The pace is different, I'm doing something new. And the whole business at the tower was upsetting. But now that's over."

He nodded and didn't say anything about that, so I didn't ask. "I spoke with Wayne last night," he said after a couple of blocks. "He confirmed using the serum and said that he wanted your side of the story in a time-effective manner and thought you'd prevaricate or evade. He also pointed out that he was subject to the same effect from the stuff, and he'd wanted to limit exposure. You interest him," he said, throwing me a grin.

"Why?" I asked. I couldn't think of anybody less interesting than me.

"He's accustomed to his son, who I understand trades on his name a lot, uses his standing as a billionaire's son to get what he wants. About the only place the name doesn't have a real impact is at that prep school he goes to; Wayne chose it specifically because the teachers and administration aren't overawed by the pressures their students tend to threaten them with. He expected you to use your connection with Emma and/or Stark as a tool, but you're modest. He appreciated your tact and felt that you were honestly upset about the situation. He talked to your boss after you'd left and got a good review of your first day's work. He's pleased that you're willing to work in two languages even if you're not fluent in both." We strolled on. "He also mentioned that the Wayne Educational Foundation will be accepting applications for scholarships this fall for the following year."

"I saw that in the employee handbook,' I said, brightening. "I looked it over last night. They have a lot of benefits available even to their part-time help, which is me." Such as health insurance; I was on my parents' plan, but because they were small business owners, it was expensive. Dad was going to check it out because it might be more cost effective for me to use that insurance for as long as I worked there.

"You could just let me pay for college," he said.

"But I really liked earning that Stark Foundation one. I want to win more." It had surprised me how good it felt to have people I didn't even know look at what I've done and decide to help me achieve more.

"Speaking of that, Stark promised that the scholarship was yours, regardless of where you work," he said. "Turns out that $50 000 annually is the top award. They usually don't award that much, and Stark has nothing to do with any of the process, so yeah, you did get that one on your own."

The conversation drifted until we got to the embassy; the guard at the gate recognized my uncle, looked at my drivers license, and let us in. He was huge, with ceremonial green and gold armor that must be awfully hot. It wasn't scorching yet, but it was warming up early. The embassy itself had been a fin de siecle mansion, an enormous relic of the Gilded Age that resembled Casa Loma in Toronto quite a bit, down the crenellations on the parapet and towers. It was actually surprisingly cute. We were admitted to the great hall and I studied the ornate interior while we waited.

"It's decidedly not along the lines of traditional Asgardian design," Bucky murmured to me. I forgot that he'd actually been there and made a note to ask him about it later.

"It is on a register of protected sites, so it is unlikely to reflect our true style," a smooth voice said, and I turned to see Loki standing behind me. "It's a bit...cluttered, but it does impress."

"Because of those restrictions, we were able to get it at a good price," Thor shrugged, coming up. "It keeps the rain off." I smiled. "Friend Bucky. At present, you will be training me and my brother." He nodded to me. "Alex Barnes. Welcome to the embassy. It will be made known to the gatekeepers that you are to have access here to train."

"Thank you," I said. "I appreciate the opportunity."

"My ego was bruised, not my brain," he said, smiling suddenly. "Perhaps it will encourage my guards to try new things. Let me show you where the training ring is." He gestured, and we fell in behind him as he strode over to a staircase going down. The stone stairs led to an open room; there were mirrors along one wall, free weights and benches, and heavy bags hanging from the rafters. There were thin mats covering part of the stone floor that could be put aside at will.

"Good," my uncle approved, looking around. "All right, you two warm up and stretch." While they were warming up, I consulted with my uncle and we planned my schedule, two days after work, one on the weekends. Flexibility was planned in case of situations beyond our control. I looked up in surprise as Thor and Loki finished their stretching, which was cursory at best. Loki quirked an eyebrow at my surprise.

"You guys need to stretch," I urged them. "Stretching helps prevent injury." Bucky nodded.

"She's right," he agreed. "Alex, do you have some time?" I nodded. "Why don't you show them how you stretch?"

I started to move around, warming up some. "I usually use a barre to help, but it's not necessary," I told them, and ran through a simple set of stretches. Thor looked doubtful, but both of them were surprised when I kicked up my heel on the wall for deep stretches of my legs and hips; I still had full splits. Bucky motioned to me and I walked up to him; we regarded each other a moment and he attacked. I went full out in my effort to keep up with him (he was holding back some so I would get a good drill) and he directed the drill in such a way as to demonstrate the benefits of flexibility. I kept my movement light and fluid, striking hard, stepping quickly.

"That is impressive," Thor allowed when we were done. I helped Bucky come up with a beginning series of stretches for them both. Thor couldn't bring his leg up parallel to the ground while standing on the other leg, and Loki wasn't much better. Thor wanted to learn boxing, and Bucky showed him the basic stance, how to step and pivot, and how to jab. Then he sent him to a bag and started Loki on Systema. I watched Thor for a bit, then circled around. "Your elbows are coming up to the side," I said quietly. "Your hands are coming down. When you jab, keep your body still. The jab is your most important punch; it's for attack and defense, it stuns your opponent and lets you land the big punches. It's long and quick, uses the least energy, and leaves you the least vulnerable, so it's critical that you learn to do it correctly." He frowned.

"Show me."

So I did. Then I slowed it down so he could see just what had to happen. His jab got better, but in between, his hands kept dropping. So I took advantage once and tapped his nose lightly. He stood up straight and glared at me. "That's why you need to keep your hands up, looking over the tops of your gloves. And you don't want to hunch over, either. Stand up straighter. Your height is a great advantage to you. Never give away points that you don't have to." I coached him a little more, then became aware that Bucky and Loki were watching. Bucky smiled at me, then had more to say to Thor, and asked if I'd drill with Loki. I found that he was a quick study, but felt he wasn't taking it seriously enough. I warned him to focus more, and when he wouldn't, I did an arm lock on him that stopped him cold.

"If you don't want to learn this, that's up to you," I said after releasing him. "But if you don't, then you're just wasting time. If you don't concentrate, you're going to get hurt." He started the drill again without acknowledging my words, but he seemed to be trying harder. After that, Bucky directed them over to the weights, and gave me a hug and thanks for my help. I stretched again, and took off.

I found it easy to get into my new routine. I left home with Sam in the morning and we took the subway together until my stop came up, then I went to work, where I started to learn about climate change. Part of my job was to become familiar with terms, concepts and models, so Dr Reynaud gave me introductory materials that I read, alternating with my proofreading duties. Some days I met my friends after work, and some days I went to the embassy, where I settled into the discipline of lessons again happily. Sometimes Thor or Loki watched the lessons, and gradually their guards started to trickle in too. Loki was getting a little more limber, and I showed him how to use elastic bands to help deepen the stretch, making it easier. It didn't take much for a competition to flare up between the brothers, and soon Thor was asking for more help with his stretching. If there's one thing a dancer knows, it's how to stretch. Neither of them were likely to become superlimber, but I found that flexibility helped me to gain strength and confidence since I knew my likelihood of getting hurt was reduced. One day I came down and there was a freestanding barre waiting. I smiled. It made stretches so much easier, even if Thor and Loki looked ungainly at it.

The luncheon came up, and I took some time off so I could go. Dr Reynaud approved, saying that I needed to make connections too. Rill, Aslyn and I were excited to be meeting so many accomplished women, and in the mingling before the meal also met some new girls our ages. The keynote speaker was Pepper Potts, the nearly legendary CEO who was driving Stark Tech to new heights of profitability. Afterward, I was surprised to bump into my aunt.

"Oh, Alex," she said, startled. I could see my friends edge in. "How have you been?"

"Fine, thanks," I said calmly.

There was an awkward silence, which was broken by the arrival of Ms Potts, who exchanged cheek kisses with Emma and asked for an introduction. Emma introduced me without information on how we knew each other, and I took the opportunity to introduce my friends too. Ms Potts was very nice, and mercifully drew Emma away.

"How do you know Emma Harrington-Barnes?" Rill whispered.

Uh-oh. Best to divert attention from the name. "I was working in Stark's lab for a bit, remember?" I asked, unable to suppress a small groan. Rill and Aslyn nodded, and we made plans to get together over the weekend.

The next day after work, I went over to the embassy for training. "Emma said she bumped into you at the luncheon, yesterday," my uncle said as I finished warming up and started to stretch. I nodded. "She didn't quite know what to say," he said. I nodded.

"That made two of us. Look, Uncle Bucky, I'm not trying to make trouble here. But I don't feel like I'm really in the wrong. I went along with everything that happened when I worked in the tower, and I'm not blaming anybody but the other boys for the accident, and I could have asked to work in a different lab after the accident, I could have told Mr Stark that I didn't want to build a stupid robot. I thought the engineering lab would be new and interesting. So I could have stood up for myself more, but on the other hand, I also didn't play dirty by contacting the head of a company who has better things to do, trying to get a low-level someone fired from a new job." I looked down. "And this is really petty, but it was the mother of a friend of mine who put me down for that lunch. Emma could have and didn't." He nodded and gave me a squeeze.

"She doesn't like to admit she's wrong," he said. "Most people don't, especially when they're really wrong. You're very complying, you're right about that, but I see that you're trying to assert yourself more. And it doesn't excuse adults for their actions. She'll get around to apologizing. Will you accept her apology?"

I took a deep breath. "It depends on what she says," I said. He nodded, and we went to work.


	19. Test

I was learning an awful lot about climate change from Dr Reynaud. He had the rare gift of being able to explain complicated science, synthesizing information from different fields into a cohesive, coherent narrative that informed without prejudice or condescension to the reader. And he encouraged my questions if I was unclear about something I read while proofreading, or even if I just wanted to know more. The days passed with work, time with my uncle at the embassy, and evening and weekend activities with my friends, including some of the girls I'd met at the luncheon.

It didn't seem like much time had passed until it was time to go home. I went a little early and celebrated the Fourth of July too. Being in different places had done amazing things to my relationship with J. When I came home we did a lot of things together and just generally got along better, much to the bemusement of our parents. I was sorry to go back to the city, almost.

But for better or worse--and it was mostly better--my life was in the city now, at least for another year. It was nice to spend the hot summer days at my desk in the nice air-conditioning--never savagely cold, which was a relief--even if I struggled with the work sometimes. The articles he did for popular publications were fine; they were written for an audience of beginners like me, for the most part. It was the articles for the scholarly publications that took the most time and energy, but even then, we were making good progress getting his work ready for submission.

At Systema practice, things changed. I had a good workout with my uncle, both weaponless and with the plastic knife substitutes, and then I spent the rest of the time helping him teach. It was surprisingly satisfying, especially when the student reached a milestone, like Thor not dropping his gloves in the boxing practice. The off-duty guards came down to watch, and I think peer pressure goaded both Loki and Thor to progress. Loki was doing better than Thor with Systema, mainly because apparently when he fought, he usually used his magic rather than a weapon or his fists, so he had less to unlearn.

One afternoon, Thor brought down his wife for an introduction. She spent a lot of time on Asgard, where Thor's father was taking an active interest in the development of her son Magni. She was tall, of course, and beautiful with dark eyes and hair. Sif was mentioned in the Avengers bio, but not discussed in much detail, so it was interesting to meet her. She might be a mom now instead of a warrior, but she kept herself in condition and I felt it would be a mistake to underestimate her abilities.

Apparently, not everybody felt the same. While Bucky was speaking with her, I heard a couple guards who had come down to watch the practice being all judgmental about women who had the audacity to try to rise above their place. One said that at least she was fulfilling her purpose, having birthed the next royal heir. I looked at them with dislike. The rude one looked me up and down and said it was a lesson I should learn too. My voice trembled with the anger I was trying to suppress when I told them that that wasn't the way things worked around here. Thor and Sif looked over at the sound of conversation and my uncle just narrowed his eyes a little. Loki, that troublemaker, said perhaps I should demonstrate the abilities of Midgardian women, and one of the pig Asgardians pushed himself off the wall and said he wouldn't mind showing me my place. Thor inhaled preparatory to a bellow, but Sif laid a hand on his arm and said she wouldn't mind seeing this. Feeling like I had something to prove, I moved the mats off the stone floor and piled them to the side. Uncle Bucky helped, and made the stipulation that the bout would be over when he said so. The guard smirked, assuming that the direction was for my benefit. I shook out my hands--I had wraps on but not boxing gloves-- and stood ready for the guard.

The thing about the Asgardians is that they think their size is all. Don't get me wrong, it was work to fight them, but it wasn't as hard as you'd think it should be. And their toughness was nice for me--I could throw everything I had against them and not worry about the damage. I had a fun moment where I kicked the guy in the gut. It wasn't quite a "This is Sparta!" moment, but really quite satisfying. The damage was overall pretty minimal. Except when the guy grabbed my braid and swung me around with it; my next blow broke his nose. Oops. And then I brought down my heel on his Achilles, a favorite move of mine, and finished it with a blow to the groin when he staggered. That was an approach I agreed with my aunt whole-heartedly. The guard collapsed to the ground, not sure whether to clutch his nuts or his nose, and Bucky immediately halted the bout. I spat out my mouthguard--I hadn't needed it this bout, but there's no point in taking chances--and asked if the other guard wanted to try his luck.

He declined. Thor roared with laughter and told him to attend to his buddy. From the way Sif smiled, I thought that she must run into that attitude a lot. Loki smirked at me and asked me not to break their guards, as they were in finite supply. I rolled my eyes at him.

"He should know by now that you shouldn't judge somebody based on their appearance." I stepped up close to him, in his personal space, like I was going to kiss him. I brought down his head to my level with a hand on his neck, and his eyes opened wide when he felt the press of the tip of the plastic blade at a spot between his ribs where a little force (and a real knife) could reach his heart. I stepped back, releasing him. "What happens if a genuine assassin comes down the road? You don't always carry your big swords, and they're not that hard to defeat."

"I would like to join your lessons," Lady Sif said--and not to her husband. She spoke to Bucky. Who nodded. Thor looked at them, then at me, and didn't say a word in protest. It was agreed that she would join the next class session.

After the class was over, I helped Bucky put the mats back into place and tidy up a bit. "You did a good job in that bout," he said. "Your form was excellent."

"Thanks," I said. It didn't sound quite like the complement I was kind of hoping for.

He sighed and looked at me with regret. "I mean that. It was impressive. The problem is that you shouldn't be able to hit that hard."

My hands felt cold. "W-what do you mean?"

"You're strong and you've been able to pick things up fast, but... it looked like the strength of your punches exceeded what you should be able to do," he said gently. "I'd like to test you to see how hard you can actually hit."

"You think this is the effect of those mutations?"

"I do."

"I don't want to go back to the tower," I said instantly.

"I understand." He gripped my shoulder and we turned for the door. He picked up my messenger bag for me. I stopped to pick up the bag with my work clothes; I usually changed into my workout clothes before I left the Wayne building. "I'll call Hank McCoy at X-Men mansion," he told me. "They've got a lot of practice testing young people for changes like yours."

"I thought that if it had made any changes in my ability, I'd have seen it before," I said, trying not to cry.

"I don't know how it all works," he said, sighing. "And don't worry, we'll keep this just between the two of us," he added. "You're eighteen now. I know you're not happy about this."

My uncle, master of Systema and understatement.

The next week, I took a day off and we drove up to the X-Men mansion upstate. We were met by a large man with a Russian accent, named Colossus, appropriately. He and Bucky spoke a moment in Russian, and his arm silvered as they shook hands. Wow. We followed him to a medical suite, where he introduced me to Dr McCoy, a benign large man in a lab coat covered in snuggly blue fur. Er...Dr McCoy was the one with the fur. Not the lab coat. He spoke in a compassionate baritone, and then for the next several hours he performed several scans on me, had me hit a bunch of stuff, run on a treadmill, and tested my response to resistance. I pushed or pulled on a variety of levers to test my strength, and then I was scanned again. Then a bald man in a wheelchair rolled in, Dr Xavier (who I guess put the X into X-Men) who rummaged around in my head for a bit. And that wasn't weird, uh-uh.

"I understand that you are apprehensive," he said, and I nodded. "Your uncle explained the situation that is responsible for provoking these changes in you, and it's certainly understandable. You may be relieved with what I found. No huge, showy powers for you, my dear." I smiled hopefully. "You do have an interesting little power, but you won't be able to move things with your mind or read minds or anything like that. You have what I would term 'enhanced preparedness'."

"Ok," I said after a moment. "I don't know that that means."

He smiled. "As I said, it's an odd little gift, and easily underrated. There's a limited precognitive ability, limited keen tactical awareness. But mainly, it's the ability to use these other things to be prepared for emergencies. Survival by being prepared."

"So I'm the ultimate Girl Scout?" I asked wryly.

"In a way," he agreed. "I doubt you'll even be aware of it for the most part. In daily life, you'll always remember to charge your cell phone and have it with you. You might pack extra pencils for school, only to find that you have a pop quiz. You might just think you're lucky, or that you've got really good gut instincts. But that tactical analysis will also give you an advantage in sports. If you play softball, for example, you'd find it easier to tell which pitch to swing at. I understand that your uncle has been training you in self-defense. This ability will have helped you anticipate your opponent's movements."

Bucky looked interested. "I thought she was just getting used to the combat system."

"I'm sure that's part of it," Dr Xavier agreed. "But she's reading her opponents as well. Not many people have this. I've never been able to verify it, but the only person I suspect who has a similar gift is Batman. He uses his ability to to create his little...doo dads, his tech toys. They do seem to enhance his survival, and he almost always seems to have just the right things with him."

Dr McCoy came over with his pad. Dr Xavier accepted my thanks and rolled through the door. "Well, you were right, Bucky," Dr McCoy said. "She does have a physical mutation. A few of them, actually, and they're all related. Now, before I tell you what they are, I want to assure you that this doesn't mean that you have to become a superhero," he said to me. "First of all, they actually aren't strong enough to qualify you as superhuman. And second, nobody's going to make you put on a costume if you don't want to." That got a slight smile, but I was still worried.

"Your strongest ability is energy absorption," he said, looking at his pad. "That's the ability to absorb energy. Strong users can absorb any kind of energy, sunlight, nuclear, anything. You seem to be limited to kinetic energy, and you use it most effectively if it's pushed at you. In other words, if you're hit by something or if something is coming your way, you can absorb that energy. You can't store it for long, so it either bleeds away or you use it in physical exertion. In a fight, you might be punched; you absorb the energy from the punch and use it to return the blow. Now, this power in a different form is used by the Lantern Corps, like Green Lantern. Your power also has its own...I like to think of it as personality. It allows you to have peak strength, making you stronger than you should be. I've calculated what a female of your size and muscle mass should be able to lift, what you should be able to generate in terms of strength, really, and you are about four times stronger than you should be if you didn't have this genetic difference. It makes you extremely strong for a woman, but you should be aware that you aren't going to be stronger than most enhanced men. Captain America, the original, also had this type of strength. Related to this is peak durability, which is simply that you have stronger muscles and bones. Your bones won't break as easily and you'll be able to take a beating better, but your skin is unaffected, you'll still bruise where you've been hit, you can be cut. Daredevil seems to have this mutation.

"Unfortunately, you don't have a healing factor, which is always beneficial, but especially for someone whose power is primarily exposed in fighting. Now, all mutations that change the function of body and mind are pretty rare, so yes, you are a rare creature, but of all the physical mutations, things like this are the most common."

"So while I'm a snowflake, I'm not that special," I interpreted this, and he laughed.

"Your abilities aren't amplified enough to be extraordinary among your peers," he said tactfully. "But it's this last ability that's really the most interesting. I would call it a combat enhancement, perhaps dance combat." That piqued my interest. "Simply, you have the ability to infuse qualities of dance into combat. You become very graceful in your movement; it seems almost effortless. Your movement is elegant, it's easy for you to dodge attacks. Your agility, flexibility, balance, and muscle memory are quite heightened. This is the main area where you might see some additional genetic drift. But don't worry; it would mean that your abilities become pronounced rather than developing something new. Its tactical application is that it will help you evade damage, and I would imagine that it makes it very pleasant to watch you fight. That distraction might be a benefit as well. But I'd have to see you fight to be able to judge."

The hint seemed kind of blatant.

"I don't suppose there's a room nearby?" I asked, and he smiled.

"Yes, just down the hall. Allow me to summon you an opponent with whom you are not familiar." I nodded and he tapped his pad. "Logan isn't here or I'd--"

"I've already bouted with him," I interrupted.

"Did you now?" he asked, looking very interested. "I'd have liked to have seen that."

"Happened at Avenger tower," my uncle said. "I can send you a copy of the recording."

"That would be much appreciated," Dr McCoy said immediately. "In the mean time, Colossus will meet us." He showed us down to a training room, where Colossus was waiting. He was reluctant to bout with me but agreed when my abilities were explained and it was clear that it was an opportunity for me to show what I could do rather than him trying to damage me. I wondered why such a gentle person would want to be a superhero.

After the bout, Dr McCoy pulled up a recording and was able to show us where my genetic enhancements were popping up, stopping blows that should have flattened me, hitting harder than a girl my age should have been able to.

"I like how she moves," Colossus said. "It's pretty."

"I used to take ballet," I said.

"That might make it easier for you, since you already have the flexibility and agility," Dr McCoy said, "but some of that is definitely due to your new genes. It'll be easier for you to maintain these qualities as you get older. If that genetic drift continues, your movement could compel people to watch you. As we all know, distraction on the battlefield can be a big asset."

I got to drive home. I didn't drive at all unless I was at home with my family; there was no need for a car, really, in New York. Easier to rent one if you have a special occasion. "What do you think?" Uncle Bucky asked after I got back on the highway. "It's a lot to take in."

I took my time answering. He had a really nice car, so fun to drive. "I think I'm glad that I'm not majorly endowed with superpowers," I said finally. "It doesn't sound so bad. I should be able to protect myself against average attackers, others who might also have low-level abilities. But it's not something that would make me feel like I'd have to do something about it."

I could see him nod. "That's a relief for me," he admitted. "I don't really want to see you take up that life. It takes a toll on you, mentally as well as physically. And your skills are more suited to the streetlevel hero life, which is in many ways even harder than the superhero experience. It's also seedy and sordid, and I don't think you need to see all that." I gave him a quick grin.

"I have to admit, I feel better now that I know," I said.

"Do you still want to work out, help with the Asgardians?"

"Yeah, I like our sessions," I said immediately. "And those guys could stand to learn to respect female people. I didn't hate kicking that one's butt."

And so I went back to my life. It didn't seem to have been changed much by the information I'd received; any difference was in my perception, looking to see the effect of my mutations in my daily routine. I relaxed, for the first time in a long time, it seemed to me. Maybe since that dustup at the tower. The girls thought I seemed happier, but they attributed it to me getting over Roger leaving early. I let them think so, it was a lot easier than explaining the truth.

Then Aslyn asked if I'd double date with her again. "It would be with Damian again," she warned.

"I don't know if I should date my overall boss's son," I waffled. Honestly, I didn't think Mr Wayne would care, but I didn't know if I wanted to commit myself to another evening with Damian.

"Just dinner and dancing again," she promised.

"He's not a very good dancer," I observed.

"I'll owe you," she said. I rolled my eyes, not like she could see it over the phone. "It's just that he's been hanging out with us a lot, and I'd like some time with my boyfriend," she said, and I sighed.

"A big favor," I specified. "It might involve ice cream."

She chortled. "I can probably do that." So it was arranged for the weekend.


	20. *#@$

I got ready for my date with Damian with the hope that maybe it would be better than the last one. Certainly with summer more than half over, he should have some interesting things to talk about. After all, he couldn't be spending the whole thing partying at night and sleeping in.

Lewis and Aslyn picked me up. As we pulled away from the curb, we drove a route that was taking us out of the city. "Damian is under house arrest," Lewis said. "We're going to have dinner at his house, maybe watch a movie."

"Oh, god," I said.

"What? The whole purpose of this date is so we could peel him off, spend a small amount of time without him hanging around," Aslyn said, frowning. That started an argument. I leaned back against the head rest. I thought it went without saying that this was the last Damian-related favor I was prepared to do for Aslyn. Although from the sound of it, I might not have to worry about that for much longer.

I tuned in again when we pulled off the main road. The asphalt was as smooth as glass, the trees carefully trimmed back on the new road. Then the trees gave way to an expansive lawn and with a final turn of the road, the house came into sight. Mansion, to be accurate. A huge, neo-Gothic/Victorian kind of monstrosity. The kind you might expect to see in a Scooby Doo cartoon, with bats erupting from somewhere for the extra spooky touch. "Holy shit," Aslyn said, and I burst into laughter. It was ridiculously ostentatious, and Mr Wayne hadn't seemed like this kind of guy, more of a modern design sort of person.

"Damian's grandparents bought the estate before they were murdered," Lewis said matter-of-factly. "Damian loves it, so don't make fun of it."

"I bet there are secret passages," I said, looking in my purse for a tissue to blot my eyes. "That would be cool."

"Maybe ghosts, too," Aslyn said. "Atmospheric." That set me off again for some reason, and this time the other two joined in. From meeting Mr Wayne that once, I bet he had a pretty firm control on the estate, up to and including any theoretical ghosts. They probably had designated haunting times and locations. If it were up to Damian, they'd probably hang out in whatever room had the liquor and smoke cigars. Our laughter died away as we pulled up to the steps leading up to the wraparound porch. I fell behind the other two as we walked up to the door. Lewis rang the bell, and the door was opened promptly. Didn't creak appropriately, which was a point for being house proud and a point deducted for lack of appropriate atmosphere. A middle-aged man in a black suit surveyed us quickly.

"Master Lewis," he acknowledged in a plummy English accent. It was the first time I'd actually witnessed a social courtesy used as an insult. I looked at the man with more interest.

"Alfred, this is Aslyn Akiyama, this is Alex Barnes," Lewis offered, clueless to the implied insult. Alfred scanned us quickly but thoroughly and smiled.

"Master Damian is in the--"

"I'm here," Damian called, skidding a little on the highly polished wood floor as he entered the hall. "Thanks, Alfred," he said, and we set off to meet him.

"Thanks," I said as I passed the man. It seemed rude to ignore him. He smiled austerely.

"Dinner will be served in an hour," he informed Damian, who nodded, and we went into the room, a high-ceilinged library. A good chunk of the books were leather-bound sets that looked like they'd been moved in the first day the house was complete, but there was also a large collection of more modern hardcover books, with paper dust covers. There was one bookcase absolutely stuffed with paperbacks and not-pristine hardcovers, mostly obviously well read judging from the broken spines and worn edges. There were a lot of series-the Saint, somebody called the Baron, Modesty Blaize, Nick and Nora Charles, Amelia Peabody, Charlie Chan, the 87th Precinct novels... I was seeing a theme of mysteries and detective stories. On the bottom shelf was a collection of Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew, and Encyclopedia Brown books. There was a lot of comfortable seating and a large desk, as you'd expect. Damian and Lewis greeted each other and Damian offered us seats. He picked up a remote and music flooded from hidden speakers. To my surprise it wasn't the rap he seemed to prefer (and I didn't) but classical. My knowledge of classical music was limited to what was choreographed, but this was nice. Maybe Damian (or D-man, as Lewis called him, eyerollingly) wasn't as big a tool as I thought.

Or maybe he was. He flopped down in a big leather wingback, chatting with Lewis about some ball game they'd seen from a box in Yankee Stadium as Lewis and Aslyn sat together on a sofa. I didn't sit, but ghosted along the bookshelves (ha ha). There were sets of classic literature, a reprint set of what looked like famous trials, including Socrates and more recent cases, all bound in leather, beautiful sets of the Sherlock Holmes stories, Agatha Christie, the works of Poe and more, but there were also copies of Tolkien (The Hobbit was a first edition. I almost dropped it and slid it carefully back into place) and authors like Lovecraft and Steven King. Sets of the Harry Potter books, both the American and the British versions. A lot of history, divided up by periods rather than countries. It was a very eclectic condition. A low shelf under a window had reference works: the OED, a much smaller Webster dictionary, a Blacks law dictionary as well as ones related to specific fields of study, a couple of thesaurus (thesauri?).

"I thought I explained why you were grounded," I heard, and looked over to see Mr Wayne and another man, younger, enter the library.

"You never said I couldn't have friends over," Damian pointed out, still lounging elegantly in the chair. Mr Wayne pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I shouldn't have to say it each time," he remonstrated with his son. Lewis was sitting up straight, and Aslyn looked a little more hopeful than possibly she should have. The young man who was with Mr Wayne ambled over to where I stood and smiled. He was quite handsome as well, but you could tell Mr Wayne and Damian were related. I couldn't tell where this guy fit in.

"Richard Grayson," he said, introducing himself to me and smiling.

"Alex Barnes," I said, shaking his hand.

"Dick," Damian called over, and it wasn't quite clear whether he was referring to a nickname or a body part from his tone. Richard/Dick looked put upon.

"How do you know Damian?" he asked as I carefully returned the autographed copy of Tuchman's "The Guns of August."

"A previous blind date," I said. I could see Damian looking over out of the corner of my eye.

Richard looked over at the sofa and at Damian, and I think he figured out what was going on. "Huh," he said. I smiled at him and found a chair of my own, not too far away from the other three. Richard followed, leaning on the high back. Damian glared at him. It would have been difficult for the situation to be more awkward.

"Dinner is served," Alfred said from the door. Mr Wayne sighed.

"We'll be right in," he told his...butler? Alfred nodded and glided away. There were a few terse words, delivered quietly from father to son as the rest of us went into the dining room. Damian came to offer me his arm, amusing Richard, who trailed us in. The table was already set for six. Crafty Alfred.

"Who are your guests?" Mr Wayne prompted his son.

"You know Lewis, this is his girlfriend Aslyn. You know Alex," he said, and Mr Wayne nodded. Lewis and Aslyn looked at me, surprised. I hadn't explained to Aslyn about the embarrassing meeting I'd had with Mr Wayne.

"How goes the copy editing?" he asked me politely.

"Very well, thank you. Dr Reynaud explains things so well."

"Yes, he has no trouble communicating his ideas and knowledge." There was a pause, then he asked Aslyn some questions.

"So how does Bruce know you?" Richard asked as Alfred deftly served salad. "Oh, wait, right. You're the Winter Soldier's niece."

I put my fork down and glared at him. Forks hit china.

"Emma Harrington is your aunt?" Damian asked, sounding strangled. What was wrong with the boy? He hadn't even started eating.

"By marriage," I clarified.

"Little Damian there hit on her a couple times," Richard said, starting to laugh. I began to realize why Damian called him a dick. "To be fair, she was pretty hot in her Poppy outfit."

"Dick!" Mr Wayne barked. Across the table, Aslyn was looking at me, hurt.

"I'm sorry," I said to her. "Uncle Bucky said it would be safer if nobody knew we were related." She didn't say anything, just picked up her fork and began to poke at her salad. Damn. I sighed and started to eat. The salad was delicious.

"Do you have superpowers too?" Lewis said, looking at me with a lot more interest than he ever had before.

"No,"I said coldly. "Bucky's my uncle, not my grandpa. The only reason he has superpowers is because he was illegally experimented on by HYDRA."

"Yeah, but didn't you have a lab accident and that's why Stark fired you?" he persisted.

"I had a lab accident. It didn't make me a superhero, and he didn't fire me at all. I quit." I stabbed viciously at a mandarin orange segment.

"That is seriously information you don't need to remember," Damian said to Lewis, surprising me a little. Lewis nodded, but I knew he'd start to blab about it if he thought it would buy him a little attention.

The rest of the dinner was kind of excruciating. I wanted to hit Dick, but that would be rude and I didn't need to piss off Mr Wayne. Note to self. NEVER SOCIALIZE WITH YOUR BOSS! I think the chicken was delicious, but I barely tasted it or the vegetables. Dessert was a fruit and cheese platter. I had some apple slices to be polite. Nobody lingered and conversation was stilted. We didn't stick around for a movie. I nodded at Dick, thanked Mr Wayne and Damian for dinner, and skedaddled. Alfred got the door for me, and he got a thank you too. Lewis and Aslyn were right behind me, and we started down the driveway without any comment.

That happy state of affairs didn't last long, though, and Aslyn and Lewis worked themselves into an epic fight on the way back to the city. From what I could tell, Lewis was friends with Damian because he was a social climber (Lewis, not Damian, his family meant that he was at the top of the heap) and while Aslyn was a good time she wasn't very well positioned in terms of family wealth or influence. She called him an asshole with a pencil dick and at the next light jumped out of the car. I wasn't going to stay around either, so I exited fast. I heard the door locks thud closed the instant the doors shut and he gunned his engine to reenter traffic as we trotted away. There was a large crunching sound, and I looked back to see that Lewis had pulled his Jaguar into another car. That turned out to belong to a pair of cops. I walked backward as one of them flipped the lights on and bleated the siren.

I looked at Aslyn and we started to laugh. We started for the nearest subway entrance, as much to get out of the heat as to get going.

"I understand why you didn't tell me," she said as we went down the stairs. "I just wish you had, is all."

"I wanted to," I said.

"So what's he like?"

"Surprisingly cuddly," I said flippantly. "He wears a lot of flannel when it's not summer." She laughed and smacked my arm. "He's nice. He--" My phone rang. "Is on the phone. Hi," I said to him as I moved to the side of the stairs.

"Wayne called me and told me what happened," he said. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, we're back in the city. Our ride was a jerk, so we're going down to the subway."

He grunted. Then, "I'm leaving the tower right now. Do you want to meet for ice cream?"

"I'm with my friend Aslyn," I said.

"Bring her too."

"You feel like ice cream?" I asked her, and she brightened. We hustled to meet Bucky at Morgensterns. He greeted me with his usual hug, then I introduced him to Aslyn. Her eyes were a little wide, but she didn't seem nervous or anything. He shook her hand and ushered us inside. Aslyn ordered green tea pistachio, Bucky smoky mocha, and I got strawberry balsamic. At a corner table, I recapped the night. Bucky chuckled.

"Wayne's often humorless, but he's a good man," he said, licking his ice cream. "He needs parenting classes."

"Did Damian really hit on your wife?" Aslyn asked. I rolled my eyes.

"Yeah, although she wasn't my wife then," he said, rolling his eyes. "Little snot hadn't even hit puberty." We started laughing. As we prepared to leave after finishing, he said to me, "Emma would like you to come over this weekend. She has some things she'd like to say to you."

I sighed, agreed, and we settled on lunch on Sunday. He held the door for us and gave me a good bye hug. "Sigurd and Torburn miss you," he said, and told Aslyn he was pleased to have met her. He went on his way and Aslyn and I went on ours.

"Wow, he's really nice," she said to me. "It's cute, how you are together. Your eyes are the same color and shape, the hair the same color. I pity the guy who tries to screw you over."

"After Trevor, I don't have to rely on him, though," I said. "He's been teaching me how to fight."

Her eyes got big again. "Like when he was...you know...?"

"Yep. So I can take care of myself."

"Nice," she said. Then I gave her a brief, censored account of what had happened after I'd quit Stark Tech, and she shook her head.

"Yeah, I guess your aunt has some things to say. Better be a big fat apology in there," she sniffed. Then she grinned. "Are her dogs nice or scary?"

"Huge and nice." We'd reached the point where our paths separated. She warned me that Lewis would yap, Damian's displeasure or not, so we talked a little about whether I should tell Karen and Rill. She said that Karen wouldn't really care and Rill would think it was cool, so once I got home I had some calls to make. Aslyn was right. The only thing she didn't predict was Rill's comment.

"Ugh, that's why I wouldn't date Damian Wayne," she sniffed. "He's got those little toadys for friends and he's always a little apart, like he's too good for the company. His dad might be loaded, but somebody should tell him he can't buy real friends with daddy's money." She achieved the improbable; by the time we hung up, I kinda felt sorry for him.


	21. Confrontation

On Sunday I made steady progress toward Bucky and Emma's house. I wasn't dragging my feet, but neither was I dancing down the street like I was in some Hollywood musical. Even in New York, that's weird. The urge was strong to plod, but on the other hand, the faster I got there the sooner it would be over, and frankly, I didn't have very high hopes. It had been about two months since things had blown up at the tower, and I suspected that Bucky had insisted on an apology.

I shut the gate behind me, walked up past the flowers, which were doing beautifully despite the summer heat, and tapped on the door. There was some excited woofing going on, with the smaller dogs barking too. The door opened, and my uncle smiled at me. "There you are, sweetie," he said, giving me a hug. We waded through canines to the living room and sat down on the couch. Each of the dogs had to be greeted; the two Scotties and Daf were showing their age, but they were still energetic. Bucky handed me a package. "Sorry this is late, it took longer than I thought. Happy birthday, Alex." I ripped the paper eagerly, pressing the bow to Sigurd's head. He looked at me mournfully, so I laughed and took it off.

It was a beautiful messenger bag, leather. I took a deep breath of its scent. "It's gorgeous," I said admiringly. "Thank you, Uncle Bucky." I gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Wow." It was dark gray on the outside, stitched with black thread, and the inside was lined with rich supple purple leather. The leather was sturdy but soft and tactile.

"I ordered it from a place in Italy," he said. "I saw the place when I was there for the war, always wanted something that they made. I was glad to see that they were still in business. It's custom, handmade, and there's not another in the world like it, just like you. I wanted you to have something special for your 18th."

"Now I'm not going to want to use it," I said, petting it.

"It'll hold up," my uncle said confidently. "I told them that it had to last, so they made it the outside using a leather that's very durable. Look inside," he urged. I looked in the main pocket and pulled out a vintage notebook. The paper was smooth and fine under its leather cover, which was marked JBB. I looked my question at him.

"Steve got two of these for my birthday before I was drafted and never had the chance to give them to me. They were still in his effects when he was found, and he gave them to me when I was repatriated." He paused for a moment. "The Depression was over, the economy revving because of the war, but neither of us still had a lot. Look inside the cover." I opened the notebook to see the inscription, written in small, neat cursive, "You can do anything. SGR." Below that, in more of a scrawl, were my uncle's words: "Seize all of your days, Alix. JBB"

"You should keep this," I said.

"Nah, sweetie. Sometimes it hurts to remember that time of my life. The war took away...everything, or so I thought. In the end, though, I had my friend, who was another brother, an anchor to that time. It meant... a lot. I wish you two could have met. You'd have had another uncle, completely over-protective and involved. But the notebooks mean home to me and a time when I thought that my whole life was mine to make. Your eighteenth birthday is special. You're an adult now, and I wanted you to have something significant, something special. You have opportunities I never dreamed of. I want you to remember how proud I am of you. The second notebook is for your brother when he turns 18. I want you to use it," he said intensely. "Fill it up however you want. It was never meant to be some kind of relic."

"Once I figure out what I want to do with it, I'll think of you every time I do," I said. My eyes were watering a little, and I cuddled in for a hug.

"Lunch is ready," Emma said neutrally from the doorway as Bucky gave me a handkerchief for my eyes. Darn. I'd hoped she'd try to apologize before, expecting a substandard apology, then I wouldn't have to stay to eat. But we trooped in for sandwiches and a salad and lemonade, and I put the gift wrapping into the recycling. There was some chit-chat.

"I forgot to tell you, in light of my cover being blown and my friends finding out that we're related, I told Sam and Mindy too," I told my uncle as I poked my salad. I had to say, Alfred's was better, and I wasn't thinking that just because I was hostile to Emma right now. "They're my host family and there's no reason why you should have to stay away. They'd like to meet you."

"I'm looking forward to meeting them too," he said, patting my hand. "You've said so much about them."

The back door opened and Peter came in. "Hi, Mom," he said, then looked around. "Hi, Dad. Uh....Alex, right?" I nodded. Grr. This might draw things out. 

"Are you hungry?" Emma asked, and Peter grinned.

"I can always eat," he said. Great. I kept my expression neutral in deference to Bucky; I didn't want to make him embarrassed by my behavior.

Emma gave Peter a plate for salad and started making him a sandwich.

"So what's up?" he asked brightly.

"Emma was getting around to apologizing to Alex," Bucky said, a slight bite to his words. She frowned at him as she came back to the table with the sandwich. The thought that he'd walked into something finally drifted across Peter's face.

"That's true," Emma said crisply. "Alex, I apologize for calling Bruce and talking to him about your employment there. I shouldn't have done that." She sat down. I put my forkful of salad down.

"That's it?" I asked, bewildered.

"What do you mean?" Bucky asked.

"You disclosed personal medical information about me to Mr Wayne," I said, my voice tightening with anger. "You had no right to do that either. You might be a superhero, but medical privacy laws still apply to you. Mr Wayne knew all about the accident and the changes to my genome, and said that you'd told him."

"Emma," Bucky growled.

"I've known Bruce for years. He won't do anything with the knowledge. It was just information to explain why you should be working in the tower," she said in exasperation.

I could feel myself flushing in anger. "He's my boss! It doesn't impact my ability to do my work, and neither of you have any right to that information either! And who are you to be interfering in my life, deciding where I should work, anyway? If somebody had tried that with you, you'd have had a fit, flounced out on a road trip, and probably sued them for the release of private data."

She flushed too. And then the situation took another fun turn when Mr Stark showed up. "Family reunion?" he inquired, seating himself. All these people just wandering in and out as they pleased. What was wrong with them? Why didn't anybody knock?

"Not really," Bucky said tensely.

"Oh, right. The apology. Doesn't seem to be going that well," he said, picking up half my sandwich. If I'd wanted it, it would have been incredibly rude.

"You owe me an apology too," I said to him, my anger getting the best of me.

"You want me to say I'm sorry for something? Fine, I'm sorry for calling Wayne and trying to get you fired."

"What?" said Peter.

"Goddamn it, Stark," Bucky said.

"You know what? I'm sorry," I snapped at Stark. "I'm sorry I ever went to work in your chemistry lab, that I didn't quit after the accident, that I didn't let my parents sue you, I'm sorry I accepted your offer to work in your lab, I'm sorry I ever tried to please you with that ridiculous project, I'm sorry I ever cared about your good opinion! I hate robotics, code is boring, and I regret wasting my time trying to learn about it! I'm sorry I ever thought you were worth looking up to. You're just another guy who thinks his money makes him special, and that IQ substitutes for everything else." I was surprised to find myself on my feet.

"Alex," Emma whispered. She had a pinched look on her face. Her husband looked at her, remote.

"Her empathy finally kicked in," he said, biting off his words.

"What?" Peter said again, looking bewildered.

"Oh, shut up, Spiderman, this has nothing to do with you," I snapped at him too.

"What?" everybody asked after a stunning, complete silence.

"Alex, sweetie, how did you--"

"J figured it out, based on what I observed. Don't worry, though, nobody's going to blab about it," I said, a headache starting to throb. "We don't have the money for the fines. And it's not like anybody here wasn't aware of the secret identity." I turned from the table.

"Alex-" Mr Stark started to say, sitting up, his face white. Sigurd came up, putting himself between me and him, growling a little, and I spun away and marched out before I said anything else. Bucky came after me, catching up and making sure I had my new messenger bag. I was kind of surprised when he walked with me.

"Emma made this mess, she can clean it up," he said firmly. "I'm sorry that it went so awfully wrong." He shook his head. "I should have kicked Pete out when he showed up, definitely Stark. I think I'm going to have to insist on knocking first, like you do." He patted my shoulder. "But how did you know about Pete?"

I looked around a little; we were still in a residential neighborhood and nobody was on the sidewalk in all the heat. "Last time I was home, I was talking with J, said there was something weird about Peter. He took my observations, researched it, came up with the conclusion. He's pretty smart."

"You two make quite a team," he observed. I smiled slightly. I liked the compliment. "But what bothered you about Peter?" My shoulders slumped.

"I was jealous of him," I muttered, too wound up to lie. "I know it sounds stupid. But he's important to you and you never mention him or talk about him."

"He is important to me, he's a good kid and I'm very fond of him," Bucky acknowledged. "But it's a little hard to explain the relationship."

"The story sounds like a cover," I said, and he nodded.

"So we just don't talk about it much. But you and Jaimez figured it out. Clever. Sweetie, you don't have anything to be insecure about. You're my blood, and I love you very much. I'm hoping that I'll be able to get to know your brother better too." He kissed my hair. He got a funny look on his face. "That might be Emma's problem," he said slowly. "She's not used to sharing me, and she's gotten a little selfish, used to being at the center of everything. You were right, she'd never tolerate being treated like that. She's not as important as she used to be since she quit being a superhero and we've got new members. Pete wouldn't quit with his extracurricular activities and she took him under her wing. They'll always have a close relationship, but it's changing too; Pete just got himself a new girlfriend, I wouldn't be surprised if they got married. And you showed up, dividing my attention, you caught Stark's attention with your work, and she's used to being the only one who pretty consistently keeps up with him. She didn't like that you and Natasha had dance in common, well, she's detested Natasha since Steve was dead there for a little that time. And Natasha is damaged. Her experiences blunted her empathy, but she likes you. She was the one who called me when she found out you quit."

"I don't want to cause any trouble for you," I started, and he shook his head.

"Emma needs to face her own problems. You're not responsible for them. You're just responsible for your own, and you don't seem to be kidding yourself about them."

"I didn't like admitting that I was jealous of Peter," I confessed. "And I just wanted him to butt out."

"I could tell," he said, smiling slightly. "But you did face up to it. You can't help what you feel, only what you do about it. And sweetie, you do hit hard when you feel cornered. I didn't mention our trip upstate to anyone," he said, switching conversational tacks. "So nobody but you, me, Xavier, and Hank--Dr McCoy--know what you can do. And Colossus," he amended. "But they're not going to say anything. Colossus just won't, and the other two think of this as medical information, which is privileged. You might not qualify as superhuman, but you are definitely an enhanced human."

We walked back home, and he accepted my invitation to come in and meet my other family.


	22. Summer

Sam and Mindy were pleased to meet Uncle Bucky, and he seemed equally pleased to meet them; they all exchanged phone numbers and talked about going for drinks in a couple of weeks when Sam's work schedule cleared up. Mindy loved my messenger bag, and I caught a glance between Sam and Bucky that led me to think that Mindy would be getting a gift from that company at some point. Well, my bag was gorgeous, and I felt that it would still look beautiful when it was broken in and well-loved.

The next week was pretty calm. I didn't see hide nor hair of anybody with the last name of Wayne and I started staying around after my workout to help train Sif (she said I could drop the 'Lady'). Like all the Asgardians, she was too dependent on her weapon. It was hard for her to give up her sword, it was her comfort zone, but after I yanked it out of her hand easily, she saw the need and we started serious work. It was difficult; aside from Thor and Loki, none of the Asgardians were particularly supportive of her efforts. It was that whole feeling that a woman's worth is between her legs, and most particularly in her uterus.

As we were working during my second day that week, she said abruptly, "People here don't seem to value motherhood much either."

I brushed aside her attack and looked at her, perplexed. "Why would you say that?"

"Other women I've encountered don't seem to think it's very important." Hah. Emma, I'd bet. Natasha doesn't have kids, but she likes them.

"Without mothers, none of us would be here," I said logically. "And I know if I've had a crappy day or I don't feel well, I want my mom. Since she's in Pennsylvania, I have Mindy. And Mindy isn't my mom, but she is a mom, and that's almost as good. I call or text her for advice, to let her know if something really good happened, like when I won my first scholarship. Moms are important. Look at Thor and Loki. They still miss their mom. Your son is lucky to have somebody like you. You'll be a great role model." She smiled.

"Do you want children yourself?"

"Not now," I said, making her laugh. "But yeah, someday, if everything works out all right." I'd started to wonder if my 'enhancements' would scare away men in the future. Most guys my age didn't really like being outclassed in some respect by a girl, especially physically. Hopefully men would be more accepting? And I didn't think I had it in me to raise a kid or two by myself.

"Do you get paid for your work here?" she asked, the second major topic shift.

"No, but I get to have my lessons." She attacked. I showed her what she did wrong and we tried it again.

"Good," I complimented her, then showed her a couple of ways to follow up on the attack.

"If you'd like, I could teach you swordfighting," she offered.

"Seriously?" I stopped dead, then grinned. "That would be so cool." And had to duck.

So after we finished Sif's training, she tossed me a practice sword and shield and started showing me the basics with some drills. I remembered my brother yammering on about football drills with his buddies and started to move my feet. It made for quicker responses.

"Why are you doing that?" Sif asked, and I explained. According to the football coach, if you keep your feet moving, even if it's just shifting your weight, it's easier to respond to movement from the opposition because you don't have to sort out your balance and you've already built up a little momentum. Well, I think that's what he said. I tend to zone out on discussions of that nature.

I went through the drills mentally and physically until the next practice. Sif was not available, which was disappointing, but Loki stepped up. I did the drills perfectly, and Loki blinked. Then he showed me some advanced drills and more of them, then we bouted a bit. He won, not surprisingly, but I could see where he had some weaknesses and squirreled them away for later, because the best ways to exploit those weaknesses would be with Systema, and that wasn't the point of this learning. When I got better, though...

The next week I had the last three days off work. Dr Reynaud was attending a conference and gave me the time off. I was torn between excitement of sleeping in and the feeling that since I was new and had already taken time off I shouldn't be slacking off. As I left on Tuesday night, I was at loose ends. I wasn't going to the embassy as usual because they had something going on. As I started off down the street, a sleek BMW M6 convertible pulled up beside me. "Hey," a familiar voice said, and I looked into the car. Damian. I hadn't seen him since the dinner.

"Hey," I said.

"You done for the day?"

"Yeah."

"You want a ride home? Maybe we could stop for dinner."

Urk. Was he asking me out? Did I want to go? I felt it had been pretty clearly established that we weren't a good match. But it was hot, the humidity was fierce, and I was tired. "Thank you," I said, and he leaned over the seat to open the door.

"Nice car," I said. The paint was a nice metallic blue, a black and a light gray leather interior.

"I like it," he said, deftly pulling into traffic. "It's fun to drive." We went to dinner at a restaurant that was new to me, parking in a garage. We ordered, and Damian asked me how things were going at work. I told him how I was getting a few days off.

"Taking time off already?" he asked as the bread arrived.

"I know, Dr Reynaud is going to a conference and said that I could take the time off if I wanted... but I already took a week off to go home for my birthday. Maybe I should go in, there's always work," I said worriedly, putting some butter on my plate with a roll.

"I was just kidding," he said, holding up his hands. "Nothing wrong with taking some time off. School's starting soon."

"Oh," I said, smiling briefly. "I don't always understand when you're joking. Have you registered for classes yet?"

Diversion successful. I was taking English, earth science, study hall, French, history, advanced calculus, and for one of my two semesters of fine or applied art, a graphic design class. He had some similar classes, but he was taking gym instead of art, Chinese instead of French, a different calculus, and environmental science. As we talked, I realized that I was actually enjoying myself. Away from his friends, he was less blase and away from his dad, less bratty. He insisted on picking up the check. "I asked you," he said, handing the folder back to the waiter.

"Then next time it's my treat," I said.

"This wasn't a date," he said hastily. I knew what he meant, and rolled my eyes.

"Don't worry, I don't like you like that," I said. "But this was surprisingly fun." He didn't seem to know whether he should be offended or relieved and took refuge in signing the receipt. When he dropped me at home, I felt full, cooler, and less harassed than if I'd taken the subway. I thanked him for the dinner and the ride, and we parted amiably.

The next day I slept in and it was glorious. But after being up an hour with no goals, I got twitchy. Fortunately Rill had the day off and we went shopping for back-to-school clothes. I didn't have much to get; a couple pairs of jeans, some shorts, some blouses for work along with a pair of wool flannel trousers, a new pair of black dress shoes. I couldn't handle the thought of wearing wool, even in the office right now, but they were on sale, fit well, and eventually, winter would come.

The next day I went to school with Aslyn to pay our fees, get our locker assignments, all that stuff. Once again we had our lockers next to each other, but we were in the main hall, which was a good place for them, close to the main doors and freedom after a day of learning. Aslyn was taking a drawing class this semester and went down to the art room to ask about supplies, so I ducked into Ms Stewart's office to tell her how things were going and say hi. She was glad to hear my new job was going so well and let me know that the school had gotten access to a new suite of career tools, including an interest test that was supposed to be really super. It was extensive, so I made an appointment to come in the next day and take it; Ms Stewart would help me interpret the results and make additional suggestions after the results came back. Then Aslyn and I went to Central Park for the rest of the afternoon and hung out. Since we were working at different places now, we didn't get to spend a lot of time together.

Lewis was indeed history (yay!) and she was surprised to hear that Damian and I might be becoming friends.

"Who knew?" she said, laughing.

"I know, right? But he's not bad when he's by himself." We got caught up on other friends except for Karen; she was taking ballet class six mornings a week and then going straight to work at her family's business after, so she didn't have a lot of free time. It was too bad, but she needed all the practice she could get. Aslyn and her family were going on vacation up in Maine the next week, so we agreed to get together again to hang out when she got back.

The next day I showed up bright and early to take my test. It took two hours, and even with multiple choice and true/false answers, it was tiring to think about myself that much. But after I'd submitted the last answer, a little hourglass icon twisted, letting me know it was doing its thing, then a panel of information came up. This part just had to do with the interests I'd been tested on. Not surprisingly, there was a pretty broad range of career groups, which were like college majors; general STEM things like mechanical engineering. I also scored high in helping professions like medicine and social work, of all things.

"Huh. I wouldn't say I was all that people oriented," I said in surprise. "Plus I don't like sick people. " Ms Stewart laughed.

"There are always surprises in these assessments," she said. "Now, earlier I created a profile for you with your grades and the clubs you said you've joined. So by adding this, it becomes even more specific. It matches what you've shown enough of an interest in to study to those career groups and further refines it by how well you did in class. It's still pretty crude because it can't control for how easy or hard the teacher was or any factors like that, but it narrows it down considerably."

And it did. It tipped heavily to engineering, keeping mechanical engineering and chemical engineering among the choices, but also adding some new things like biological engineering, environmental engineering and science, genetics, teaching, and physical therapy. "That should keep you busy researching," she said with satisfaction, and I agreed. She also reminded me that scholarship applications were opening up, so I'd need to be getting to work on those. It was a productive day for a day off, all things considered.

The next day I had practice at the embassy; Uncle Bucky listened closely to what I'd been doing and was particularly interested in the test I'd taken. "It amazes me that there are so many things you can study these days," he said wistfully.

I blocked him with everything I had and slid to the side. "Why don't you go back to school, Uncle Bucky?" I asked as I couldn't quite block the next attack. "Dang."

He told me what I did wrong. "I think I'm too old for college."

"Hardly, there's no expiration date on learning," I said as I managed to get in a minor strike. He nodded approval. "You have a lot of interests, maybe you don't want to be the Avengers' weapon master for the rest of your life, or maybe you just want to explore more of the world around you." I gave him a wicked grin. "You could just audit courses. Most places let senior citizens do that for free."

He was still laughing when we were interrupted by the arrival of a contingent of Asgardians, Thor, Sif, and Loki among them. They were accompanied by an old guy with an eyepatch. No way. Odin greeted my uncle civilly, asking about his wife (was there anybody who wasn't part of Emma's cult of personality?) then studied me. I waited politely.

"So this is the girl I've heard much about this week," he said finally. I just stood there. I don't know what he's been told. "My daughter-in-law thinks much of you, girl," he said.

"My name is Alex, Alixzandrya Barnes," I said. Not girl, for heavens sake. Odin grunted.

"I would like to see what you have been teaching my sons," he said to Bucky.

"All right," Bucky said.

"You and the girl. Alixzandrya." He drew out my name. I wondered if it was my lot in life to be irritated by aliens.

"Fine," Bucky said without hesitation. Odin waved a couple of guards forward. Not much of a challenge, especially for my uncle.

"Do we let them look good for a bit or do we just take them down?" I whispered.

"Never mess around, Alex," he said. "We put them down."

So we did. We just tore through them in well under a minute. Figuratively. I mean, there were no entrails on the stone floor or anything. Odin stood straighter and blinked his eye. Then he gestured his sons forward. Thor had his hammer, Loki a sword. Without discussing it, Bucky took Thor and I took Loki. In just over a minute, I'd taken his sword away and he was bleeding freely from his nose.

Odin looked at me again. "My daughter-in-law says that she has been teaching you the use of a sword, Alex."

"She has," I confirmed. "She's an excellent teacher."

"Good," he said crisply. "I would like a demonstration." So we got out the practice swords and squared off. This was much more of a fight, because Sif was very good and I was not. If I'd treated it like a real fight, I would have disarmed her at the first opportunity and put her down with Systema, but that wasn't the point of the exercise. Only that dance combat ability Dr McCoy had told me about saved my skin. "You have much to learn in the ways of the sword," Odin said, sounding satisfied.

"Yes, it's a new weapon for me." Odin looked at me and I looked back. Not challengingly, just not backing down. He sniffed reflectively, and Sif and I put our swords and shields back in the rack.

"Well done," she said to me in a low voice. "You have impressed him, which is not easily done. And I think he is pleased with me."

"He ought to be," I muttered. She smiled. Then Odin and his retinue swept out.

As we were leaving, one of the guards stopped us and requested that Bucky join Thor and all that bunch. He looked resigned, told me he'd see me the next week, and went back up the embassy. I skedaddled, pleased to have the rest of the afternoon to do nothing with. I went home, showered, and picked up a book about the Bolshoi Ballet that I'd checked out at the library. One of the circulation librarians, a young, friendly woman named Barbara, had recommended it to me.

The next two weeks flew by, and it was time to go back to school. I went into work Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday after school and half a day on Saturday, then to the embassy after school on Thursday, Friday, and Sunday. I was busy, but not overwhelmed, which was good because there were scholarships to apply for, and all of them had different requirements. I still had a lot of homework, but my French teacher was very pleased with the progress I'd made thanks to my uncle and Dr Reynaud and that class was a lot easier.

Karen kind of disappeared, but I understood her obsession. She would be trying out for companies in the spring, so this was her last chance to polish her technique and expression. And her turnout, which was good but not great. It was mostly down to Rill and Aslyn and me when we went out, but we still had a good time. All of this helped keep me in check, because I was starting to track down teachers for recommendations. There were several who agreed with flattering enthusiasm. I'd decided to apply to CUNY--City College had engineering programs--Columbia, and MIT. I also asked Dr Reynaud for a recommendation. He'd said he'd be very pleased to do it, which made my stomach unclench. And I filled out the applications, did my best with the essays, crossed my fingers, and then made myself uncross. Once I'd submitted my applications, I'd done all I could do except try to excel this semester too. And in a way it was very freeing to have made the decisions and done the work. Mom and Dad and I had talked about my choices and what they'd be able to afford to put toward my education, so I knew exactly where I stood with financial aid. I had forms to fill out there too.

I ran into Damian every so often at work, and sometimes we went to dinner, trading off paying for it. I enjoyed it a lot more than I expected. He wasn't nearly as dickish on his own. We traded stories from school and talked about where we were applying to college--he was applying to Yale, Harvard, Princeton, and Columbia. "It doesn't really matter where I go, I know I'll end up running the company one day," he said, not sounding either excited or depressed. "There'll be plenty of time to make my own mark on it then. My dad is a great man, and I hope he's around a lot longer so I can hold off dealing with the whole thing. We're talking about how I can ease in after college, if I need to think about grad school, that kind of thing. But the stockholders and board of directors will feel a lot better about me if I go to an Ivy." Made sense to me. But I was happier with my own situation, where I could chart my own course.

I was having a pretty good day, all in all, the air was crisp with fall, I'd just mailed J's birthday present the day before, and things were looking good in class and at work. Then I came out of school, waved goodbye to Aslyn, and started off to work, only to find my aunt waiting for me. Aslyn had gotten tickets to see Wicked on Broadway from her grandparents for her birthday, and we'd gone the night before--my first Broadway play. That must be why I thought Emma looked kind of greenish, my imagination working overtime. The black suit she wore didn't help much.


	23. Apologies

Emma was across the street, leaning on her Mercedes. She didn't beckon me over or anything, so I presumed she was here to harass somebody else and started off down the street. That's my interpretation of the situation.

Pretty soon I heard the rapid click of heels on the pavement behind me. I increased my pace slightly. We did this a couple of times until I was going as fast as I could without looking like I was in a speed walking race and I had a big grin on my face. "Alex!" I heard behind me. Reluctantly, I slowed down and tried to wipe off the grin. "Didn't you see me back at the school?" she asked, puffing a little. Might want to get out of the tower more often, lady.

"I saw you, but you didn't acknowledge me," I said, and she sighed.

"Why else would I be there?"

"I'm sure I have no idea." I turned and started walking again.

"Alex," she snapped. I rolled my eyes and kept walking. "I'm trying to talk to you."

"No, you're trying to get the upper hand in dominance by using your status as an older, successful woman against a younger woman," I tossed off. "And I need to get to work. I don't have time for games." Unless they're my idea, anyway.

"I can give you a ride to work," she offered instantly. "My car is back that way."

"I'd rather take the subway. I don't want to be late."

"Do you really think I'd make you late?"

"You tried to get me fired, so yeah, I have no problem believing that."

"I'm not that bad, Alex."

I stopped and looked at her, this time letting her see the eyeroll. "Look, I have no idea what you do to make everybody think you're awesome, but your mojo isn't working on me. Admittedly, most of what I know about you comes out of the Avengers bio, but a huge big part of the marketing campaign centered around how those who cooperated really cooperated with the biographer, so it seems that that information is pretty accurate. And from that I know that when you were fired by Mr Stark, you took him to mediation and won a lot of money in an award that is the basis for your fortune. Then you've used that money, over time, to keep you going when you quit things and ran away from situations. You pointed out to people how they wronged you or made you feel bad about yourself. When I first met you, you were nice, then it was just the cookies, and then... I guess you showed what's really at your heart. And what that looks like is an influential person who is more concerned with keeping up appearances, who doesn't tolerate her shortcomings being pointed out, than being nice, let alone more than superficially kind. Kind of a bully, actually, maybe you resent me getting to know my uncle. And then you try gaslight me to make me think that it's all in my head. So yeah, you pretty much are that bad."

She looked like I smacked her. "Does Bucky know that you feel that way?"

"No. We never talk about you."

"Any other observations about me that you'd like to make?" Her voice was brittle, red spots standing out on her cheeks.

"Yeah, actually. That thing with Natasha. You felt betrayed by her over the thing about Captain America's decline and death, but apparently you don't understand the power of loyalty. You might have hung out together, but that doesn't really make you friends, more like coworkers who do some social things together. But she and Captain America had literally been through wars together. They always had each other's backs. Did you ever really have her back? Did you ever demonstrate that kind of loyalty to her? If not, you can't blame her for choosing the person who was really her friend. Uncle Bucky went along with it too, but you forgave him. Was it because Natasha didn't grovel? I like her, I get along with her fine. Your friend Constance. Were you just skating along with a friendship that was established in college, or did you actually work to continue the friendship? Did you just take, or did you give too? Maybe she is as awful as you think, or maybe there are understandable reasons why she did what she did. In the biography, you said you sent flowers to Hawkeye's family's funerals, which legitimately must have taken time and trouble and money to arrange. But what did you do after that? Did you ask him what he needed? Did you actually do anything, or did you think you were done? Because friendship is more than a gesture, it's all about the followup. Drawing from these examples, maybe I shouldn't have been surprised that you were nice at first, then... not. And I know I'm not perfect. I'm standing here unloading on you because you make me angry instead of blowing it off and getting over it. It feels really good to lash out, and even though I might be disgusted with myself later for not being a better person, I'm not regretting it right now. Because I was mad when you told me to go back to work at the tower, like I was being unreasonable by being upset, completely mortified when you used your connections to try to get me fired, providing confidential information to another person who had no rights to it either, and insulted by your half-assed apology. So unless you're here to make a heart-felt apology for trying to get me fired and leaking my medical information, just go back to your car and forget you were ever here."

Her eyes narrowed. "Don't you want an apology for everything, like telling you you should go back to work at the tower?"

"No, because I don't trust it would be sincere. Look, you don't have to like me just because I'm related to your husband. Lots of people hate their relatives, you didn't even know we existed when you married Uncle Bucky. So it's perfectly ok that we just ignore each other's existence. I'll make it easy for you. You don't have to come to my graduation, you don't have to acknowledge me if we see each other on the street. I'll be civil if I run into you with Uncle Bucky, but that's all there has to be."

She seemed to wilt. "I brought you some cookies," she said.

"I can make my own cookies." My stomach rumbled, but I remembered that we had good vending machines at work. I wondered for a minute if we were talking about cookies or something else.

"You're right. I do owe you an apology, a sincere apology, for the way I've acted. It was wrong of me to interfere with your employment, and I never should have said anything about your medical history. I'm sorry I did that." She laughed shortly. "I always told Tony not to use his money like a weapon, and here I'm doing the same thing with my influence. I failed to account for your feelings. I understand that what Tony said to you was hurtful. I know too that he says a lot of stupid things when he's stressed out that he doesn't really mean, and I assumed that you realized that it would blow over in a day or two and he'd pull you out of the bio labs. I failed to take into account that you don't know him very well and that you don't have any reason to think that he'd come to his senses soon enough. So I tried to arrange things. And I had no business trying to do that."

"Why would I think that it would all blow over?" I said blankly.

"Because that's his pattern. He blows up, then he puts things back the way they were. But I forgot that you wouldn't know about that."

"That's a terrible way to treat people," I said. She nodded. "Why does anybody put up with that?"

"Well, they start out like you did, flattered to be noticed, to be working with the genius." I nodded. That was true enough. "They make excuses for him, but eventually everybody goes into some self-protection mode, but just about everybody gives him a second chance, or at least accepts their reassignment." She paused. "But most people just leave, sooner or later. Usually later. You left very quickly."

"I couldn't afford to hang in there. I like having a job, but I don't work as hard as I do because there aren't things I'd rather be doing. I need the money."

She nodded. "But Bucky or I would help."

I shook my head. "I'm not here to leech off anybody. I can take care of the extra that I need. Mom and Dad make sure that my room and board are covered, but I contribute during the summer. I want to earn my money, be able to save a little."

"And I should have had you invited you to that luncheon, but it never occurred to me that it would be something you'd be interested in." She exhaled strongly. "I don't know you very well, and I've acted in ways to ensure that I won't. And Bucky was right," she said more softly. I edged forward, just slightly. "I am kind of jealous of you. I got accustomed to being the only family he has. He's got a lot of regrets, and I don't want to be the cause of him having more. I didn't want kids, then by the time I got involved with Steve, I couldn't have them anymore, and that meant that Bucky wouldn't have kids either. But the two of you have gotten very close very quickly and I worry that he regrets not having children of his own."

"He never said he did," I said after a moment's thought. "He said once that J and I were the closest thing he'd have to kids, but he didn't sound sad about it. He's an outstanding uncle, but he might not have been a very good dad."

Her forehead furrowed as she thought about it. "I also envy you your closeness. He's so proud of you, your grades, your drive, your accomplishments and interests. I don't always like sharing his focus. And it's petty of me to feel like that."

"We can't always help how we feel," I said grudgingly.

"It's driven a wedge between me and my husband. Bucky made it very clear he's disappointed in me, and now he won't talk about you at all. Loki is the one who told me that you're working out at the embassy and that you're teaching as well. He thinks it's a hoot how you can get through the guards so fast. It's causing major reevaluation in the training of the embassy guards. Bruce told me once that your supervisor couldn't be more pleased with you. Other than that, I have no idea how school's been going, what you've been doing. I don't like how sad Bucky gets when he remembers his life before the war. When Steve was alive, it was better because they were reminiscing and they still had each other, real links to their past. I didn't feel excluded. But when he sees you, he sees his siblings and remembers everything he lost, everything that was taken from him. I hate to see him like that."

"Get over it," I advised brutally. "He's entitled to feel however he does. And he did lose a lot. We have family stories from Aunt Becca about how he was the ringleader when they were kids, how much she looked up to him, how popular and fun and smart he was then, all the dates he had. He's still smart and fun. It's not about you or how you feel about it."

She didn't like that; her eyes flashed. "I"m also entitled to how I feel."

"Sure, but quit trying to make it all about yourself. You shouldn't try to interfere because it makes you feel sad when he mourns. He also deserves to feel sorry for everything he lost. If you love him the way you say" and I had little doubts that she did "you'll respect that, be decent enough to respect how he feels. You have to let people hurt sometimes. You can't fix everything." I checked the time on my cell phone. "Excuse me. I need to get to work. I accept your apology about calling Mr Wayne." I brushed past her and trotted down the stairs to the subway. I did think she was sorry about that. I didn't know that I forgave her for it, but I could accept her apology. As for the rest, I felt like she had an inflated opinion of herself. It didn't invalidate what she'd said, but I thought that when she'd said her actions had caused a problem in her marriage, she'd identified the reason she'd come looking for me. It didn't bother me nearly as much as it would have even a few months ago, knowing that she didn't have much use for me. It's better to have that kind of thing open and acknowledged so you could understand where the other person was coming from. It's much easier to predict future movement that way and plan an appropriate defense. I wondered when I'd started to think of Emma as an opponent. An opponent, but not necessarily an enemy.

All in all, though I felt lighter when I got off the train and went into work. The power of confrontation is too often overlooked in our society. Then I forgot about it when I sat down at my desk. J had sent me a picture of him doing a touchdown dance, looking incredibly dorky, that had been taken by the photographer of the school newspaper. I grinned again as I pulled it out of my bag and put it into a frame on my desk, joining other ones of my family and friends. Then I logged on to check due dates for articles and upcoming conferences.

When I finished work, having had an interesting conversation with Dr Reynaud about some new data he wanted to incorporate into an existing article, I ran into Damian at the door to the street. He proposed dinner, so we went to a restaurant we both liked and we caught up. I was vague about running into Emma; he gave me a sharp look but didn't press. After we finished, we walked out to his car, parked in the usual garage, talking about English. Coincidentally, both of our classes were reading Hamlet.

There wasn't any conversation from our attackers. One of the seven backhanded me viciously. "We aren't here for you," he said curtly as I shook my head to clear it. One of the others shoved me into a pillar, the rough concrete grinding into my cheek as he held me there.

Well, fuck that.

He was easy to escape because he wasn't expecting resistance. I put him down fast and kicked him in the nads to keep him there, then went after the group around Damian. The first of the group wasn't difficult either, but the next proved to be more of a challenge. The blow to my head must have affected me more than I thought; they seemed quicker and they'd been definitely trained in some form of martial art. But I was being taught by a guy who'd been the world's best assassin and had turned into the world's best uncle. I had skills too. Remembering the embassy incident, I didn't mess around but concentrated on getting rid of them.

That's when I discovered how different class was from reality. It's one thing to take on a couple of guards when you're in a class, with defined ending points, time to warm up and stretch, and proper equipment. No real stakes beyond pride. My teeth rattled more than once and I was grateful for my new toughness, but I'd still have bruises. I couldn't seem to summon my dance combat abilities and it was difficult to keep track of how many were still up until it was late in the fight. Finally, I turned to the last one, just as he buried a knife in Damian's gut. Before he could draw it out, I hit him to get his attention. As Damian slid to the ground, I managed a develope kick like the one that had been so effective against Thor and followed it by a hard, brutal kick to the side of the guy's knee. He went down with an anguished squeal and I moved to Damian's side. He was unfortunately still conscious and they'd managed to work him over.

"Stay still," I said urgently as I looked around for my bag with my phone in it. "I'll call for help."

"No," he gritted. I looked at him like he was crazy. Maybe he'd gotten too many knocks to the head. "Get me in.. the car. You drive, right?"

"Yes, but--"

"Do it!" he said, looking like he was trying not to cry. He started to pull himself over to the car. Digging in his coat pocket, he pulled out his keyring and slapped it down.

"I hope I don't regret this," I muttered, and hit the fob to unlock the doors. "If you die, your dad's going to kill me." I opened the passenger side door and helped him get to his feet enough to fall into the seat, quickly putting the seat belt on him, careful to avoid the knife still sticking out of his abdomen. I tried to remember anatomy and thought that it was close to a blood vessel. Not much of a help, the torso was packed with them. I carefully closed the door and ran around to the other side, snagging my bag as I moved.

The engine had a nice growl to it as I reversed and drove through the garage as quickly as I dared, trying to avoid jostling Damian in the process. He directed me through the streets in the most efficient pattern for cars, and soon we were headed out of the city. I recognized the route to the house. "Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital?" I asked as a sign for one came up.

"Nope," he said, voice tight with pain. We drove in silence for awhile; I increased speed once we got into a more rural area. I noticed that my hands were bloody and so was the steering wheel. We'd probably ruined the leather upholstery. "Up ahead is a train crossing," he said thinly. "Two hundred yards beyond that is a private road on the right. Slow down or you'll miss it." I did as he told me and looked in horror at the 'road'--it was washboard dirt where it wasn't all rutted. "Hurry," he whispered. So I drove, trying to avoid the worst of it but not really succeeding. We passed through a thick band of trees. "Center console," he managed. "Button with a bird on it. Press it now."

"This isn't the time for a tweet!" I said, frazzled, and the sound he made was a gutteral moan crossed with a chuckle. I flipped up the console and sure enough, there was a bright blue button with a bird on it, but it didn't resemble the Twitter icon much. I pressed it. And drove on. The road took a sharp left, and I drew a breath to scream at the sight of a wall there. Who the hell does tha--

The wall retracted at speed and there was a concrete driveway into a garage excavated into a hillside. I let out my breath at this interesting new development, pulled up near a door, got out of the car, and ran around to the passenger side. "There should be a wheelchair inside the door," Damian coughed, and I was alarmed to see blood on his lips. I brought it back and helped him into it--well, mostly dragged him into it--and pushed him inside the building. "Go right," he mumbled, head lolling. As we set off down the corridor, lights came up and more light shone from a room on the right side. I pushed him into the light.


	24. Bats

I pushed Damian into a large room. There was a metal table to the right and some sort of U-shaped table to the left. "Help me on the table," Damian gasped. "Hit the red button." And then he passed out. Have you ever tried to move an unconscious person? They're limp and floppy and a lot heavier than they ought to be. Plus I didn't want to dump him on the knife still sticking out of his middle.

"I can do this," I gasped as I wrestled him. "I'm four times stronger than a normal girl. I can kick ass. Four times stronger. Four. Times. Four. Four. Four. Four." With the last repetition of the number, I had Damian on his back (not neatly) and looked around for the red button. It was over on the wall. I lunged for it, then returned, putting his arms and legs on the table in a more organized manner.

There was a flash of light, then several bands of different colored lights that rapidly scanned Damian, then me. "Good evening, Miss. Alixzandrya. Barnes." A disembodied voice, vaguely familiar, said calmly. "Please release the large. Silver. Lever. On the end of the table to your right. Hand. Side. And roll the table over to the docking station. To your left. Hand. Side." I flipped up the lever and heard brakes release on the bottom of the table. I took a quick look and realized that Damian was on a gurney. I sped it over to the U-shaped thing and there was a clunk as the table docked.

"Please go to cabinet A, Miss. Barnes. And remove the scissors, the brown bottle, the box of cotton gauze pads before returning to the table," the voice directed. Each of the cabinets on the back wall had a letter on it, so I opened one and seized the requested items. "Place the mask located at the head of the gurney over Damian. Wayne's. Nose and mouth, and press the blue button. Cut his shirt/sweater from top to bottom and down the front of his trousers. Pour the iodine solution on the pads and swab the indicated area until I tell you to stop." A red line rectangle was placed on Damian's abdomen after I cut through his sweater and pants and peeled them back. It was a little embarrassing to be ripping the guy's clothes off. Then I reeled back a step at the discovery that Damian was going commando. TMI! The solution ran everywhere as I scrubbed his skin, resolutely keeping my eyes north of Damian's equator. There was extensive bruising, abrasions, and cuts, and an unpleasant bulge forming down lower on his abdomen. "You may stop now. Put the bottle on the counter and move to Cabinet B, removing the supply of sterile mops. They are absorbent pads." I grabbed the bunch, turning back to the table, then grabbing the iodine and slopping some on my hands before turning back to the table in time to see another scan done on Damian.

"Remove two sterile mops from their packaging. Grasp the knife. Handle. Firmly and withdraw it quickly." Don't think. Don't think--I pulled the knife out as quickly and carefully as I could. Blood shot up into my face. I flinched. "Please wipe the area with the mops. Move your hands away." I did and a bright light--a laser? made an incision, making the knife wound a little larger. "Do not worry about the blood, Miss. Barnes. Mr. Damian. Wayne. Has no known blood-borne pathogens such as hepatitis. Or. HIV," the voice said, apparently in an attempt to reassure me. Didn't work. Between the blood and the smell of burning Damian from the use of the laser, I bolted for the sink and threw up. Then I washed my hands quickly, splashed some more iodine on them, and opened a new mop, blotting as directed. A hand touched my shoulder and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

"Well done, Miss Alex," the butler? said. Albert? Alfred. With him there, the device went faster and opened another incision. I got my first look at internal organs in a reality-based context and lurched for the sink again. "Gloves are in Drawer D," Alfred said and had me get him a pair before a pair for myself. I opened new mops and handed them to Alfred as the gizmo started repairing damage.

"Go to the refrigerator Behind. You. Miss. Barnes. And remove a bag of O. Negative. Blood. Bring the bag and the packet with needles and tubing on the top of the refrigerator to the table." Alfred was moving smoothly and swiftly and took the bag, deftly hitting a yellow button and placing the bag on a hangar that shot up. The needle was swiftly inserted and taped down, and more work was done on Damian's abdomen, including that worrisome bulge, which turned out to be a hernia caused by the severe beating he'd taken.

"Whoops," muttered Alfred as one of the cauterized places broke open again. He tried to pack the wound with gauze, but was having trouble keeping up with everything. I went to my bag, found the pouch with my personal stuff in it, and trotted back to the table. I unwrapped the tampon (nonscented) and stuck it into the wound.

"Huh." said the computer. Alfred was able to get things under control quickly, the cauterization was done again, and this time it seemed to work. Alfred had me get a kit from Cabinet E that had stitching material, a selection of needles, and a needle holder. As he stitched, he had me get another bag of blood and told me how to change it out. I tried not to look, not wanting to dry heave again, but there was some tissue on the side of the table.

"That was his gallbladder," Alfred said absently as he cut the thread. "The knife damaged his liver a little and skewered the gallbladder. He won't miss it much," he said briskly.

"Oh," I said. The computer had me go to cabinet F and retrieve items for dressing the wounds.

"Please press the green. Button. At the top of the table, Miss. Barnes. And remove the mask from Mr. Damian. Wayne's. Face," the computer directed as Alfred finished covering the wounds. Alfred went to a glass-fronted cabinet and administered what he identified as antibiotics to Damian, who was still out like a light.

"I'll be right back, Miss Alex," Alfred said soothingly. "Blankets are in cabinet G." I pulled one out; it was soft and warm. I went over to Damian and flicked it over him, taking off his shoes and placing them in the corner. Then I went to clean the sink.

I heard the rattle of wheels from the corridor as I moved down the counter, gathering up the bloodstained mops and putting them into the medical waste bin, gathering up the items that had been used and placing them neatly on the counter. Alfred wheeled in a bed, raising it to the height of the metal table.

"I meant that you should take a blanket for yourself," he said to me gently. Mr Wayne pounded into the room in some weird costume and looked around. He shrieked a little when he saw me. I blinked at him. "Sir, your help here," Alfred said a little impatiently, and Mr Wayne moved to help him move Damian gently off the table onto the bed. I went to the sink to wash my hands. They were stained with the iodine, unfortunately. I scrubbed harder. There was a nail brush that I used vigorously. The bed rattled off. Alfred touched my shoulder again. "If you'll come this way, Miss Alex."

I followed him down the hall, past the door to the garage, which was still open. I closed it as we walked by. I winced to think of the state of the interior of the car. Alfred showed me into a bathroom and gave me a pile of fabric before withdrawing discreetly. It was really nice. There was a tray ceiling with recessed lighting, silvery-gray paint on the walls, and subtle slate on the floors and lining the shower. I almost shrieked like Mr Wayne when I saw myself. My clothes were filthy and my blouse was probably past saving, I was sprayed with blood, even in my hair. I had mascara all around my eyes and down on my cheeks. It all looked so over the top that I'd be rejected from the cast of a horror movie. There was a knock on the door. It was Alfred again, with towels and a small plastic bottle.

"Please feel free to avail yourself of the shower," he said. "There are toiletries in the cabinet. This is a solution that will remove the iodine from your skin." I thanked him and explored a bit. There was a built-in cabinet next to the glass-fronted shower. There was shampoo, conditioner, and body wash in a refreshing rosemary scent, so I put down the towels (nice and warm) and collected bottles, placing them in the shower before jerking off my clothes. The black pile of fabric he'd given me before turned out to be a long sleeved Under Armour t-shirt and a pair of straight-legged warm-up pants. A pair of thick soft black socks rolled out. Aces. At least I wouldn't have to put my gross clothes back on. There was blood on my bra that had soaked through, but I rinsed that out quickly and blotted it with a towel before padding into the shower. It had little nozzles all up and down the walls that felt nicely massaging as well as a waterfall showerhead. Oh, man, I was going to have bruises. Now, free of the dirt and everything else, I could see that my hands were cut and I was going to have bruises there as well. .

I didn't want to get out. This bathroom was the nicest I'd ever seen and the shower was actual heaven. But I couldn't stay there indefinitely. I dressed in the new clothes, twisted my wet hair into a bun, then restored the bathroom as best I could before folding my clothes and venturing out into the hall. I followed the voices into what turned out to be an enormous cavern, mostly unlit. I headed toward the cluster of lights and the voices.

The way over there was lined with glass cases full of paraphernalia, like trophies, each neatly identified with a plaque and individually lit with soft light. Some of the criminals' names were familiar, like the Penguin and Joker, both heavy hitters in the criminal world, but others were obscure. To me, at least. It also included a Robin uniform, identified as belonging to one Jason Todd. I started to wonder if Damian had turned into a version of Robin. That would probably make Richard Grayson Nightwing then. I rubbed my arms. So Mr Wayne was Batman. Made sense, the guy was obscenely wealthy and I'd seen for myself that he was a lot more muscular than your average zillionaire when I'd noted that he had a great tailor. Just hadn't put it together. Unless, of course, the suit he was wearing tonight was not just some weird rubber fetish.

The path circled what appeared to be a big pit, from what I could see between the display cases. Suspended over the pit somehow was a circular pad on which the latest incarnation of the Batmobile was parked in splendid isolation. It too had its own spotlight. I'd laugh at the flair for the dramatic, but somehow it just wasn't funny. On the far side of the pit was parked Redbird, the flashy red sportscar that Robin drove when he wasn't sidekicking. There was a giant mechanical T Rex and a massive US penny, for some reason. As Gwen Stephani would have said several years ago, this shit's bananas. I mouthed the spelling of the word bananas as I continued.

I flinched as something zipped by my head and rocketed up; sure, of course there would be actual bats in a place like this, which looked to have been originally a natural cavern. I approached a band of monitors set into a semicircle that looked like the nerve center for superhero central. The bat. cavern. Bat...cave. Hideout? No, bat cave. Batman sat in a particularly massive leather executive chair. Had to be custom built. Alfred was leaning against the wall near a natural arch; through this I could see a circular room that had doorways leading to other rooms. Showy.

"Ah. Miss Alex, sir," Alfred said, and Batman swiveled in the chair. He got to his feet and strode over to me.

"You saved Damian's life," he said gruffly, then enfolded me in a hug that squashed me unpleasantly against the hard rubber of his costume. "Thank you for my son, Alex," he said. I patted him gingerly, then jumped as a white light flashed brightly on the console.

"Doorbell, sir," Alfred said, peeling himself off the wall. Mr Wayne released me and rubbed his face.

"He's going to be ok?" I asked, and he nodded.

"You don't seem to be too surprised by all this," he noted. Great detective work there.

"It's been a long day," I said, trying to suppress a yawn now that the adrenaline was fading. "I'm not going to say I'm unshockable right now, but I just don't have the energy to be surprised. It's pretty cool, though."

"I found the cave when I was a kid," he said, leaning on the console. "Researched it later and found that it had been a stop on the Underground Railroad. So when I decided to fight crime, I thought it made an ideal secret hiding place."

"I think the word you're looking for is 'lair,'" I murmured, and a slight grin curved his mouth for a moment.

"There's a crime lab, some other labs, a workshop, a gym, a technical library," he said, waving his hand to the complex behind us. "Digital books are well and good, but there's something satisfying about having a book in your hands, turning the pages, the smell of the ink and paper. And not everything is digitalized or should be. Parking is across the way, along with tools for maintenance and repair. We'd have put the surgical suite over here as well, but there wasn't enough room. The mechanics for it all are fairly extensive and the rock gets unstable farther back. So we added the second entrance and stuck other stuff over there too, a recovery room, the shower, janitor supply closet, things like that."

"I'm going to get to leave here, right?" I said, feeling a touch of anxiety.

Mr Wayne chuckled dryly. "Yes, we don't have holding cells," he said a little indulgently. "I think you can keep a secret."

"Mr Bucky Barnes, sir, miss," Alfred said, standing aside as Uncle Bucky moved into the room and looked around.

"Alex, sweetie!" I hustled over and gave him a hug. Yep, flannel makes for a far superior hug than rubber. "What happened, sweetie? Are you ok?"

"My hands hurt," I said, frowning, and showed him. "Damian and I went to dinner after I got off work. We do that sometimes," I told Mr Wayne. "We trade off paying. After we finished, we walked to his car, he usually gives me a ride home after dinner. In the parking garage, we were talking about Hamlet and this gang jumped us."

"What parking garage was this, Alex?" Mr Wayne asked, and sat down in the gigantic chair. I gave him the location, and he quickly and easily hacked the security system, pulling up recordings a little before the attack. All four of us watched the attack as it happened. I frowned, and Bucky asked me why.

"I felt so slow and sluggish as I was taking them down. I thought, I dunno, but usually I feel faster and more agile. But this shows that most of these guys are as fast as I am." And for some reason that made me feel grumpy. My specialness was not so special. Mr Wayne paused the recording after I dropped the last guy, then rewound it so we could watch it again. I focused on me rather than watching the other guys beating, kicking, and stomping Damian. This time Uncle Bucky critiqued my performance as we watched, but I'd done a lot better than I thought I had.

"What did you learn from this?" he asked as he put his arm around me. I rested my head on his shoulder.

"That p-practice is nicer because you c-can warm up and get physically and psychologically p-prepared. I-it was kind of a rush, though." Damn that stutter. I took a couple of deep breaths to calm down and Bucky nodded. I enunciated carefully as I continued more slowly. The fight had already happened and was over, I reminded myself. "And then I saw Damian, and that was a real buzzkill." Mr Wayne snorted in grim amusement and the recording continued.

"What did that boy say to you ?" Alfred asked.

"Oh, just that they weren't there for me. So they were there for Damian."

We watched me helping Damian into the car, then getting in and driving off.

"What happened after that?" Mr Wayne asked.

"Damian refused to go to a hospital. I can see why now, but I thought he was nuts. Then he gave me driving directions because I use the subway, told me how to get here. When we pulled up, he told me where to find a wheelchair and that I needed to go to the right in the corridor before he passed out."

Mr Wayne pulled up footage from cameras in the surgical suite. We watched the whole thing in silence. It was nice of them not to mention the vomiting or how unskilled I was. "Where did you learn to do that, Mr Alfred?"

"'Alfred is fine, Miss Alex," he said absently. "I was in the British military. SAS. I served as a medic."

"Wow," I said, then it was all over but the cleanup. It had taken about half an hour from the time when Damian and I had arrived to the time when he'd been wheeled out.

"Where is your son now?" Uncle Bucky asked.

"He's in the recovery room, sleeping off the anesthetic. He's being monitored. When he wakes up, I'll be signalled."

"Any more questions, Wayne? If not, I want to get Alex home. We can stop by the tower first and have them use the tissue accelerator on your hands and face, sweetie," he said. I didn't want to go to the tower. I could say I'd been mugged, which was kind of the truth. But I could have that argument with my uncle in private.

"I'm sorry, Alex," Mr Wayne said contritely. "I should have offered. I have one of those here."

"Really?"

"Yes, it was developed in the medical instrumentation division of Wayne Enterprises." Ok then. I"d thought that Stark had invented it, but apparently not. Alfred showed us to a smaller room that was more like an infirmary but had a full-body accelerator in it. Ha! Somebody else liked the thought too. Bucky looked around and nodded. Alfred poked some buttons.

"Based on the recording we viewed and the medical scanner's assessment of your level of bruising and strain, this should do it. It is set for a cycle of twenty-five minutes, Miss Alex," Alfred said calmly. "We will wait outside." Bucky nodded and they closed the door after themselves. I took off my clothes and lay down on the bed. I shut my eyes as the top part descended slowly; Alfred hadn't said it was necessary, but why risk anything?

I woke up at an obnoxious beep and took a moment to orient myself. Now that the excitement was over, I was tired and stiff, but not nearly as sore as I'd been when I walked into the room. My hands had healed from the cuts and scratches, and only faint traces of the worst of the bruising remained. The cheek that had been scraped on the concrete pillar felt smooth again, and that's what I cared most about. Long sleeves and jeans tomorrow would cover everything else that hadn't been completely taken care of.

Dressed again, I went back out to the main cave. Uncle Bucky had a bag and my messenger bag, which had been cleaned of Damian's blood. The men stopped talking and Bucky put his arm around my shoulders and kissed my hair. "Ok, sweetie, I'll take you home now." He nodded at Mr Wayne and we followed Alfred to an elevator. It opened in the entryway of the crazy-looking mansion . Alfred held the door for us.

"Thank you," I said as I went onto the porch. Crap. I'd forgotten my shoes somewhere. Oh, well. I wanted to go home more than I wanted my shoes.

"I owe you thanks," he said. "Master Damian can be a brat at times, but I'm fond of him. Thank you for helping him." I smiled at him and went down the stairs to the car.

"Sweetie, where are your shoes?" my uncle asked. "You can't be running around outside in this cold in only socks."

"They're in the bag, Mr Barnes," Alfred said, and Bucky made me stop and put them on. FINALLY i was allowed to get in the car and we drove off. It was a pretty silent ride. I might have napped some.

When I went inside, Sam and Mindy were worried and appalled to hear that I'd been mugged, but it did explain why I had on different clothes and why I was so tired. They assumed I'd been dealing with the police, and I let them. I didn't bother changing, just fell into bed when I got to my bedroom.


	25. Reaction

When I smacked the alarm the next morning, I couldn't understand why I felt so awful. Then I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower. There were bruises all over still, even after the tissue accelerator, mostly to my arms and torso. They looked new; they must have come to the surface after the healing session was over. They sure felt like deep bruises. I was grateful I didn't have to dress down for gym; there was one set on my forearm that was clearly from fingers closing around my arm. And it hit me just what had happened. If I hadn't fought back, I probably would have been ok, but a friend would have died in agony. Some of what I'd seen last night I'd promptly repressed, but it wouldn't stay down. There'd been blood everywhere, not just from his torso. I could recall slashes to his palms, but the arms of his sweater and his pants over his thighs had been torn and bloody too. Alfred would have taken care of those later, wouldn't he? Then I thought about all the blood, being sprayed by it, the smell of it, the taste of it. It had stayed in my eyes a little so that it looked like I cried blood when they watered. A blood vessel must have been hit, just stabbing muscle or organs wouldn't make it squirt like that, would it? I swiped at tears on my cheeks, stupid since I was still in the shower. The recollection of seeing the excised gallbladder on the table and the sights and smells hit me and I gagged violently, losing the battle against throwing up. Fortunately, I didn't have anything in my stomach beside acid and bile.

When I was dressed, I went out to grab my bag and get going. Sam and Mindy were waiting and asked if I wanted to skip school. "You don't look good, Alex. You're pale and still upset," Sam worried.

"I've got a paper due and probably a couple of quizzes," I said. "I'd rather do them today."

"Honey, were you raped?" Mindy asked bluntly.

"No," I shook my head violently. "It wasn't like that. I was with a friend. They beat him up really badly. I was just kind of...collateral damage." I could tell from the look on their faces that they thought that the attackers had just got Damian out of the way before planning to focus on me. I let them think that, it was easier than the truth. Which I still didn't know, completely. She hugged me gently, and after a couple more questions, Mindy dropped me off at school.

I did ok until English, when I went to hand in my essay on Hamlet. "I'm really sorry," I mumbled. "I meant to provide more detail on the discussion of the three revenge plots in the play but I didn't have time."

Mr Franklin looked at me with a jaundiced air. "And what prevented you from adding this information?"

"I was going to do it last night when I got home from work," I said softly. "But I was mugged instead. It took a long time to get home again, and I was too worn out to do the work." I hesitated, then rolled up my sleeve to show him the bruises. They were really dark now. Maybe I should swallow my pride and ask Bucky if I could go to the tower for another session with the tissue accelerator. Mr Franklin looked shocked, then asked if I was ok.

"I'll be fine, it was just a shock, unpleasant," I said, and he nodded and let me go. I gave Aslyn the same abridged version of events I'd given Sam and Mindy, and she was furious on my behalf. It felt good that there were so many people concerned about me. I kind of sleepwalked through the rest of the day aside from taking pop quizzes in French and earth science. Then I went outside, I saw Alfred and Uncle Bucky talking beside his car. I shuffled over to them.

"Alex, sweetie, are you ok?" my uncle asked in alarm.

"No," I said in a small voice, and started to cry. He hugged me and rocked me a little, and when I calmed down, gave me his handkerchief.

"So is it just the shock hitting you or is it something else?" he asked gently but practically.

"Shock, I think," I muttered. Then I showed him the bruising. "Shouldn't these have healed after the accelerator last night?"

He frowned. Alfred looked over too, and his normally impassive face showed faint perturbation. "It should have, yes," he said. Bucky pulled out his phone and made a call, moving a little ways away.

"How's Damian today?" I asked Alfred, hoping I hadn't just wiped mascara all over my face. Bucky once mentioned that he wore what he referred to as "black camouflage war paint" around his eyes to help with sun glare when he'd been controlled by HYDRA that smeared like a bitch. Maybe the inability not to look like a tragic raccoon was a family thing, passed on like DNA.

"He's been sleeping, mostly. The silence has been a pleasant change," he said, smiling faintly.

"But those cuts and stuff on his arms and legs, they've been taken care of too?" I pressed, feeling stupid but wanting to hear confirmation. Of course they would have been treated. Alfred's expression warmed.

"Yes, they were minor in comparison to the injuries he received to his torso," he said reassuringly. But I noted he said "in comparison to."

My uncle rejoined us. "Apparently your enhanced muscles and durability mean that damage that you sustain will take longer to heal," he said gently, although he looked pissed. "Wish I'd known that before. We can go to the tower. He" probably Dr McCoy "said that you'd also be tired for a day or two if you expended a lot of extra effort. It was plain to see in the recordings that you were using your abilities extensively."

"You could also receive treatment elsewhere," Alfred said. "If you wished to say hello to Master Damian." My uncle laughed.

"Let's go," he said to me indulgently.

"Don't you have to be at the embassy?" I asked.

"You're more important,' he said, hugging my shoulders. "They'll understand that you need treatment. Is Wayne at home?" Bucky asked.

"He had to go in for a meeting this afternoon," Alfred said, shaking his head. "He did say that he would appreciate your call."

"OK, let's go out, you can have some time with the accelerator and check on the kid. We can get an early dinner on the way home if you're hungry," my uncle said. I brightened. I didn't have much for lunch and I was getting hungry. We followed Alfred out to the manor and Alfred showed Bucky the library with its landline so he could call Mr Wayne. I followed him to the elevator and we went down to the bat cave. I controlled my chortle. It was a descriptive name, but so...self-referential at the same time.

After another session with the accelerator, which significantly lightened the bruises (hopefully it would take this time), Alfred took me to a room next door to the clinic room with the accelerator, the recovery room they'd talked about last night. I'd pictured sterile white everywhere with hospital ugly, but again my imagination had not been up to the challenge. The walls were paneled in sapele, with soothing dimmable lights in the ceiling, a large television screen that was silently showing a rerun of some college football game, unobtrusive speakers, and a door that I thought might be a bathroom. There were monitors built into the wall and trimmed out nicely; the displays looked like interactive art rather than vital signs and readouts. Leads for the monitors and an IV trailed away behind the bed; seams for a tall, narrow cabinet were barely visible on the wall. The bed did have those silver rails to keep you from falling out and it did incline, but the bed was more double-sized than twin than I'd realized yesterday and looked to be designed more elegantly. Certainly the sheets had a sheen to them that indicated high thread count, the pillow was thick and soft looking, and the blankets looked both light and warm. A table that swung over the bed was pushed to the foot; it too was made of sapele like the walls, and the metal parts were a brushed steel. There was a crystal carafe of water and a glass on it. Next to the bed, a strange man stretched out in a recliner, leafing through a stack of magazines.

Damian himself looked like utter crap. Bruises stood out lividly on his golden skin. I winced. He wasn't wearing a hospital gown or pajama top, but the blankets were pulled most of the way up his torso, hiding the worst of the damage. I could tell he'd had some time with the accelerator; the cuts on his arms showed definite signs of healing. The man in the chair looked up, looked me up and down, and smirked. He put his feet down and poked Damian.

"Hey, dork, some pretty chick's here to see you," he said, and Damian stirred, scowling at the man.

"Screw you, Jason," he mumbled, then turned his head and smiled at me. Or tried to, anyway; there was still swelling on his face. "Hey, Alex," he said.

"Just wanted to see how you were doing," I said. He cackled.

"Better than I expected," he said, slurring his words a little. "Thanks..."

"Does Bruce know who set that up yet?" the man that Damian had called Jason asked Alfred.

"Seven of the League of Assassins' finest," Alfred said balefully. "Ra's al Ghul sent them."

"The ecoterrorist?" I asked. He'd been behind a virus released on the New York subway several years ago.

"Indeed, Miss Alex," Alfred confirmed.

"Grandpa's pissed at me..." Damian sort of chuckled, then winced. Alfred looked at him reprovingly. My eyes widened in shock. His mom was a villain?

"Bruce has a real compulsion for the bad girls," Jason said casually, flipping through a Sports Illustrated. "Inadequate condom use, and Junior here enters the world nine months later. Bruce didn't know until Talia dropped him off when he was ten. Granddaddy is a little sore that Damian won't come to the dark side." Damian glared at him.

"Fuck off, Jason," he said.

"Master Damian, language. There is a lady present. Master Jason," Alfred said, taking control, "didn't you say you had an appointment in town?"

"That I do," he said, tossing the magazine onto a small nightstand. He softened some and messed up Damian's hair. "Later, punk," he said, nodded to me, squeezed Alfred's shoulder, and sauntered out. Damian muttered something I didn't quite catch but it didn't seem complimentary, then his eyes closed again. I turned and headed for the door. Alfred called the elevator.

"Thanks for letting me see Damian," I said to him. "I was worried."

"Of course," he said as the door opened. "He was injured badly, but I believe, having seen what happened, that he would have been killed without your assistance. Your skills are remarkable. Normally Master Damian is quite a good fighter himself, but there were simply too many and they acted too decisively by disabling him first. Your ability to compartmentalize doesn't come without its own price, but because you were able to drive him here for help and think on your feet, he will make a full recovery, and faster than if you'd ignored him and taken him to a hospital. All of us who care for Master Damian owe you a debt."

"I disagree," I said as the door opened. "Anybody would have done it. He'd have done it for me, if the situation had been reversed. And I was pretty freaked out, inefficient. You did a lot more than I did."

"Master Damian would have helped you, of course. I would imagine that this was your first encounter with an emergency medical situation. Certainly you were upset and that is completely understandable. But you kept your head, got him prepared for surgery, and were engaged in the repair of the most pressing wound by the time I arrived. I am trained for these situations, you are not. You are a very impressive person, Miss Alex," he said, and we walked to the library. Uncle Bucky was reading a book and looked up.

"Sweetie," he said, standing. "Do you feel better now?"

"Yeah," I told him. "Thanks for bringing me out here." I crossed over for a hug. For a scary, shadowy former HYDRA assassin, he was surprisingly cuddly. He seemed to like hugs a lot. This was good. I liked hugs too.

"Wayne's made the surveillance footage from the garage disappear. The police picked the attackers up after receiving a report from someone who almost literally tripped over them later. Weapons found on them and their lack of identification raised flags, and now Interpol is involved as well as NYPD and the FBI. Records of their interrogation reveal that their memories are impaired and they could not describe the person who put them in their conditions. Wayne tells me that they'll never remember. There are ways to alter a person's memory," he said, shrugging. "HYDRA had them, so I'm not surprised that Wayne has come up with his version. So we believe that you are safe. They didn't have any recording or broadcasting devices on them, so there was nobody monitoring the operation remotely."

"Did I kill anybody?" I asked with trepidation. "I didn't even think about it at the time."

"No, sweetie. You used a lot of force, but Wayne told me that these guys are highly trained and very good at what they do; that force was necessary for your purposes."

I shuddered. "I'm glad that I wasn't helpless," I admitted. "Thank you for your teaching, Uncle Bucky."

"You're my best student, Alex, both in terms of sheer ability and attitude. It's a pleasure to teach you, and it's a huge relief to me that you can defend yourself." He let me go and put the book he was reading back into place. Alfred tapped a discreet blue tooth device in his ear, nodded, and went to the desk. He sorted through a stack of envelopes, extracted one, and handed it to me. It had my name and address on it. At his nod, I opened it carefully. It was a letter from the Wayne Educational Foundation, dated five days ago (not that this necessarily was accurate) and it announced that I'd been awarded a scholarship. Similar to the one I'd won at the Stark Foundation, it was a four year grant, but this one was for $75 000 each year. I slapped my hand over my mouth and finished reading. It was signed by both the head of the foundation and Mr Wayne. Between these two scholarships, even MIT was almost covered. I probably wouldn't have to take out any student loans, what with Pell Grants, or if I did, they'd be minimal. And I still had applications I was waiting to hear back on. And there might be some that were institution specific. My parents were going to be so happy.

"This award was authorized before yesterday," Alfred informed me. "They haven't gone out yet because Master Bruce hadn't signed them all before this morning. Besides, your actions to help his son aren't something that can be bought." I beamed at him. "I must say that I enjoy seeing the reaction of a scholarship recipient."

"Wow, what a day," I said, feeling a little weak with relief. "Thanks, Mr Alfred."

"Just Alfred is acceptable, Miss Alex," he murmured, and showed us to the door.

We walked down to the car, and as we drove away, Uncle Bucky said, "Emma told me the results of your conversation the other day."

Unable to think of anything else to say, I contented myself with just, "Oh?"

"You two are very alike in some ways, although you might not appreciate the comparison," he said with a laugh. "You forced her to look in a mirror, and she didn't like what she saw much. You were correct in saying that she was treating you, and actually others, in ways that she wouldn't tolerate for herself. You provided her with alternate viewpoints that may or might not be right, but made her think about how there are different ways to perceive the same events. She needed to hear that, I think, and I'm terrible at holding her to account. If you're up to it, she'd like you to come for dinner tonight. If you're not, it's understandable, given the events of the past couple days, but I guarantee that it will be a low-stress meal."

Seeing Damian and getting the scholarship had done a lot to even out my mood. If Emma was extending an olive branch, I should step up and accept it. Besides, even if Bucky was wrong, I could always take off and pick up something on the way home.

"Ok," I said. Bucky just smiled and changed course for Brooklyn.


	26. Dinner

Bucky found a parking spot not too far away from his house, and we walked up the path. The gardens were dormant and the plant beds were neat, but it was less inviting than it had been, it felt. Emma met us at the door and had a hug and kiss for her husband. She put her hand out, tentatively, to me, but dropped it before I could figure out what she wanted. "Come on in, Alex," she said, and I followed them into the living room, where I was promptly knocked over by Sigurd and Torburn. The little dogs crowded in between the big dogs' legs, their little tails wagging cheerfully. You gotta love pets. That simple, honest happiness to see you is a real gift after a long hard day. Or any day, really.

Finally I got up again and had a seat. "Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes," Emma said. "Is Damian going to be ok, Alex? He's a brat, but a good kid."

"I don't think he's much of a brat, actually," I said, a trifle coolly. Somewhere along the line I'd started to suspect that Damian put his bratty manners on like a disguise, possibly so people would think he's just another spoiled rich kid and therefore overlook him. "He's expected to be fine."

She caught the coolness and looked like she was restraining her temper a bit. Bucky might say he had a hard time holding her to account himself, but he was pretty good about sitting back and making her deal with the consequences of her actions. It was an impressive tactic. I'd have to remember that.

"And how are you?" I wondered if the order of the questions was a subtle dig; she'd asked about a kid she knew slightly before me. But Damian's injuries were a hell of a lot worse.

"I'll be ok," I said. "Mr Wayne has a really nice tissue accelerator. It's full-body, so a treatment doesn't take as long."

"That's good to hear," she said. There was a brief silence.

"Tell her your news," Bucky prodded me. I grinned at him.

"I got a Wayne Foundation scholarship," I said cheerily. "Seventy-five thousand a year for four years. That almost puts me over the top for the more expensive schools, and I still have some applications that I'm waiting to hear back on. It would be great if Mom and Dad could keep the money they were going to contribute." I'd applied at the University of Pennsylvania as well, kind of in panic, although I had only a slightly better shot there than at MIT or Columbia. I'd probably end up going to CUNY, and there was plenty of money for that.

"That's quite generous," she said. 'Was that decided before the incident?" Bucky looked at her in exasperation and Sigurd barked sharply.

"Yes," I said crisply. "Alfred said the award letters hadn't gone out because Mr Wayne hadn't signed them until this morning. Alfred has integrity, I don't think he'd lie about it."

"I didn't mean to imply that there was anything untoward," she started to say.

I held out my phone. "On the Wayne Foundation website, it says that this is the top award. I didn't expect to get it, but he didn't try to pay me for helping his son. Look it up."

"I'm sorry," she said, and paused. "I didn't mean to imply that you didn't deserve it." Sigurd flopped over, as if in disbelief. A timer dinged in the kitchen. Saved by the bell.

We sat at the table; there was a crisp spinach salad and beef stroganoff over noodles. "It's delicious," I said, and settled in to eat. It was a little awkward and Bucky and Emma caught up with their days.

"Oh, sweetie, I almost forgot," Bucky said, and got up, returning with an envelope. "Tasha sent that for you." I opened it and almost fell off my chair. It was a ticket to the Bolshoi Ballet, on tour in America. The ballet was Ivan the Terrible to music by Prokofiev, Saturday night in two weeks.

"Oh, my gosh!" I squealed in delight. "That's so amazing!" Bucky looked complacent, Emma a little sour. I'd always wanted to see the Bolshoi. I was going to have to go shopping for an outfit. Fortunately, I'd been able to save a good chunk from my summer job. Also in the envelope was a phone number with Natasha's note to call her if I had any questions. I did. I needed some guidance for what to wear. And of course, to thank her for this exciting opportunity.

That cheered me right on up and gradually the atmosphere also lightened. Dessert was a lemon meringue pie. Then there was a little after-dinner conversation, then Bucky offered to drive me home. "Thank you," I said. "I have homework, and I messed it up last night. I don't need to do that again, what with college applications in. Thank you for dinner," I said to Emma. "It was wonderful." And there were goodbyes to make to the dogs.

"Congratulations on the scholarship," she said, sounding sincere when we got to the door. "I apologize for sounding like you didn't deserve it." I nodded, accepting her apology.

"Need anything I can pick up on the way home, doll?" Bucky asked, and she said no. We walked back out to the car. As we drove away, he asked me not to take her attitude personally. "The problem is that she's a little territorial, and she feels that you belong kind of in the Avengers' camp. But you're working for the competition now and she's a bit jealous." I rolled my eyes.

"I don't work for Batman," I pointed out in exasperation. "I work for Mr Wayne, way down the food chain."

"I didn't say it was sensible, sweetie," he said, chuckling. "She mentioned that you didn't ask Stark for recommendations for your college applications."

"I'm trying to get INTO these schools," I said, exasperated. "Beat out the competition. I don't need anybody saying that I'm slow, probably stupid, and a mediocre worker to boot."

He huffed out a breath. "I should probably tell you that while you might not have asked, he apparently did write you letters of recommendation." I looked at him with narrow eyes. "I did not tell anybody where you were applying. I went up to his office for some paperwork last week, he wasn't there, but on his computer was a letter to Pennsylvania. He probably hacked your school to find out," he said.

"Son of a bitch," I said angrily. Normally I try not to swear around my uncle, it makes him cringe to hear curses in mixed company, but it just slipped out. "Interfering--"

"I agree it was high-handed," Bucky said, cutting me off smoothly. "But he owes you an apology, which you're not going to get from him, so this is his way of apologizing." I fumed. I'd gotten recommendations from teachers at Midtown, Dr Reynaud, and the parents of one the kids I'd tutored had contacted me to see if I could use a recommendation. The kid was much more enthusiastic in school this year and they felt I'd helped significantly with that. I'd crafted my essays with a lot of care and blood, sweat, and tears. And now this jackass could potentially put it all at risk.

"Do you know if he's sent them? I don't trust him."

"I'd be surprised if he hasn't. It looked like he had to proof the one to Pennsylvania, but it was complete."

Shit. "It would probably look worse to have him withdraw the letters," I said rubbing my forehead. "They'd wonder what was wrong."

"Sweetie, it was a really good letter. It isn't going to hurt you one bit. And while even MIT is supposed to look at just the prospective student, Stark's recommendation will have substantial weight. Only Wayne challenges him for power and influence out here in the East. In the West, there are a few names in tech, but Stark's got the advantage of second-generation influence over them."

"I don't want anything from him!" I burst out.

He nodded. "Think of it like damages, then. You could have sued him after the accident and probably would have walked away with a tidy sum, given that the cabinet wasn't in fact secured to the wall and because there has been other safety litigation against him. His recommendations will help get you into a school that you want. And while CUNY is well-respected, a diploma from a school like MIT or Penn or Columbia will open more doors for you." He waited for a response. I sulked in silence. "Use your common sense, sweetie. By the way, what did you do to calm him down once he got on one of his hyperactive streaks? He's on one now and this time he's not showing signs of coming down." Although he spoke casually, I could hear concern for his colleague.

I sighed. "Let him sleep where he drops. Replace the coffee with decaf. He can't tell the difference and when he gets like that he drinks gallons of it," I said grudgingly.

Bucky looked enlightened. "Gallons, really?" he said teasingly, and I felt the corners of my mouth lift unwillingly.

"I've seen him drink a pot in just under half an hour once, so yeah, probably," I defended myself. "He drank three pots of coffee during a shift, sometimes, a three to four hour period of times. That happened three, maybe four times."

"Seriously?" I nodded. "No wonder he's headed for psychosis," he muttered, the lightheartedness gone from his tone. "I need to stop by the tower once I drop you home."

I tried to feel sympathy for Mr Stark but failed. He had the resources to get help if he wanted, and there would be no shortage of people who would treat him. He was probably just afraid they'd commit him for a nice long stay.

After Bucky dropped me off, I chatted with Sam and Mindy for a bit before doing my homework. I was able to reassure them that my uncle had gotten me some treatment for the bruises, and showed them the much faded bruises on my arm. Then we talked about other things; Sam just negotiated a settlement of a big case, and Mindy was going to start work the next week with the New York Philharmonic for their next recording. They were taking advantage of the arrival of the orchestra that played for the Bolshoi Ballet since they wouldn't be performing in Lincoln Center for a bit.

"I got a ticket to the ballet," I said, smiling. "One of my uncle's friends is taking me." I showed them the ticket, and they were excited for me.

"Who are you going with?" Mindy asked.

"Natasha Romanoff."

"Well, you won't have to worry about muggers with her around, honey," Sam said.

"That's true," I said, pleased. Once was enough.

"Didn't she dance herself?" Mindy wondered. "Or wait, wasn't there something weird about that?"

"She has implanted memories that she was a dancer with the Bolshoi," I said, frowning as I tried to remember. "But she actually can dance. And that's muscle memory, so it can't all be fake memories." We talked about that in general for a bit, then I went to finish my homework. Then I called Natasha to thank her for the ticket.

"I might have to meet you there," she said, "but then we'll go to a late dinner afterward. My treat." I tried to decline, but she wasn't having it. "Come on, it'll be fun." then, in a more serious tone, she said, "I love to watch them dance, but I always feel a little ache that I'm not up there performing as well. So I always console myself afterward with at least a special dessert afterward." She advised me to wear a cocktail dress and heels for the performance.

I wanted to laugh. I'm not even old enough to have cocktails in the dress. It felt very adult to be looking at evening clothes, which I did that weekend. Aslyn came with me; she wasn't interested in ballet but she sure could shop. We found the prettiest short sheath dress in a rich amethyst. It was a jersey fabric with a slight sheen to it and fit closely but didn't cling. It was sleeveless, with gathered fabric over the chest that gave the illusion of cut out areas and there were three little places that showed skin on the back. I could wear the shoes I'd worn to the prom, plus it was on sale. I got a shawl to wear with it, black velvet with a beaded fringe on each end, and a little black satin evening clutch with a beaded detail.

It turned out that Damian only missed three days of school. It was amazing how good that tissue accelerator was, and I imagined that the surgical suite had also helped a lot.

The days passed quickly. Emma reached out and we texted more. Soon I was getting ready for the ballet. Mindy called a cab for me so I didn't have to deal with public transportation in those shoes. I shivered when I got out; I should have worn a coat, but vanity was strong in this one. Natasha hadn't arrived yet, and hadn't when the lights did their warning flicker. I went in alone, but she slid in just before the doors closed. We exchanged happy grins as the lights lowered and the orchestra began to play. We were enthralled by the first act, where Ivan meets his wife Anastasia, there's a big battle with invading foreigners which Ivan wins, and on his return home to his wife, falls ill. In the second act, the boyars plot treachery, and Anastasia is killed by poison. Ivan seeks revenge, and the boyars are captured after her funeral and killed, you know, elaborately. It ends on a downer, Ivan lost and despairing. And of course we all know, historically, how that turned out. I sighed when the curtain closed. It had been magnificent. Every detail, from the costuming and scenery to the graceful attitude of the hand in each position, was superb. The applause was thunderous.

Afterward, we discussed the ballet over dinner. It was wonderful to talk about technical aspects with someone else who recognized them. Acknowledging that she wasn't sure whether the memories were real or not, she told me a few stories about dancing in the Bolshoi dance academy and the Bolshoi corps de ballet, which is massive. After dinner and dessert, she dropped me off at home. I sent a thank you note the next day.

After that it was just a couple more weeks of quizzes and tests and papers and work and practice until Thanksgiving, which I spent with Sam and Mindy and got some extra time in at work, a surprisingly tranquil dinner at Bucky and Emma's, as well as going out with Aslyn, Rill, and Karen.

When I got back to school, I had to sign up for next semester's classes, the last of my high school career. About the only thing I didn't take the second semester of was graphic design; instead I decided on an art appreciation class. I could have dropped a class, I had enough credits for an open period, but that felt lazy. If I was going to be at school, I might as well be learning something. To balance this promise of further work, Rill came up with invitations for all four of us to a New Years Eve party, hosted by one of her classmates, and Mom and Dad were ok with me coming back to the city early. We went shopping at the middle of the month as there were good sales; I was inclined to wear my purple dress, but I found a sleeveless sequined short dress; it had a fairly high scoop neck, but the back was low and had thin straps criss-crossing over the open back. It was a stretch fabric that was snug but not bulky or tight, and it came above the knee, showing off my legs but not my panties. It was pretty demure in comparison to the dresses the other girls got, which were short and tight and really flaunted their figures.

I came back home in a good mood and really looking to a party; I had started to study for finals and calculus felt especially grueling. I took off the bag to show Mindy the dress, she thought it was pretty and we chatted a little longer. Then I picked up my mail and gathered my stuff to take back to my room before buckling down to study.

"Oh, honey, this also came for you," she said, handing me a silver mailing tube.


	27. Acceptance

Mindy asked me about a project I just completed for earth sciences on plate tectonics as I pulled the stopper out of one end of the short silver tube, and I told her how the presentation went as I pulled out some sheets of paper. I read the top sheet in stupefaction. Then I did it again. Then once more before I actually understood what the letter was telling me. Then I screamed. Mindy ripped the page out of my hand and started to read it as my eyes filled and I slapped my hands over my mouth.

"Dear Alex," she read. "On behalf of the Admissions Committee, it is my pleasure to offer you an early action admission to the MIT class of... You were identified as one of the most promising and talented students in a highly competitive admissions pool. We believe that you and MIT are very well matched-- Oh, Alex, honey, congratulations!" She gave me a big hug and after a bit, when I calmed down, I took a look at the other papers in the tube. There was a poster, a certificate of admissions, a form to accept or decline the offer, a sticker, plus two balloons, a couple of magnets, and some confetti. Mindy laughed and tossed the confetti into the air so that it fell over me. I handed her one of the magnets; she beamed and stuck it on the refrigerator. Then she called Sam and I called Mom. She was at the restaurant; there was a crash when I told her the news and she said that she had knocked over some dishes. I heard her yell the news to the dining room and some cheers; it was too early for people to be there for dinner, mostly the usual crowd there for a break and coffee. Then I called Dad; financial aid information wouldn't be available until all the admissions went out in the spring, but the two scholarships I'd already gotten would cover almost all the costs. I wasn't sure if J was home yet and I couldn't call him in school, so I snapped a photo of my acceptance letter and texted him. Then I called Uncle Bucky, who teared up as he congratulated me. I had to explain early action--it was kind of the first cull of the applicants, and not every university had it. I'd applied for it mainly to get the opportunity for my application to be seen twice since most applications were deferred and reexamined in the spring. They did cut people out of the process at this stage too though, and I'd figured that if I sucked, it was better to know sooner rather than later. Then texts to Aslyn, Karen, Rill, and Damian. I emailed Dr Reynaud then sat back, my head spinning. I had til May 1 to accept or not, just like the acceptances that would go out to the other students in the spring, but there was no question. MIT was my first choice. Then I sat up, panicked again. Sometimes universities made admissions errors, so I logged onto their portal to check my record. Yep, the acceptance was noted there. Whew.

Then I checked the rest of my mail, mostly offers to magazine subscriptions. Why anybody thought I would be interested in "Men's Health and Fitness" kind of eluded me. But there was also a letter from a STEM organization where I'd applied for a scholarship. I tore that open and smiled. A $2000 scholarship for next year. This was one of the best days of my life.

Mindy went out to do an errand, and I took a nice hot shower to unwind and recover a bit. Then I called Mom and Dad again to let them know about the new scholarship. J texted back a photo of a thumbs up and congratulations, and there were messages from my friends. Aslyn demanded that I bring the letter to school tomorrow so she could see it too. Karen texted congratulations and attached a video of some of her classmates swing dancing.

I didn't really think I'd be admitted, no matter what anybody said. I still kind of suspected that it was a mistake, so I quickly filled out the form accepting a place in the freshman class and ran it down to the mailbox. Then I sort of just sat in stupefaction until Mindy returned and Sam came home with a celebratory dinner. Mindy had gone to a bakery while she was out and had gotten a cake.

I had a hard time focusing on studying that night. The next day, I had fun telling the guidance counselor, Ms Stewart who had been so helpful, and my teachers, all of whom were really pleased for me. Aslyn was almost as excited as I was, and she teased me that now they wouldn't have to suffer my angst while waiting in the spring. When I got to work, Dr Reynaud had a cupcake with a sparkler on it to celebrate, and Mr Wayne himself came down to congratulate me; Damian had told him. Damian showed up after work, but I had practice at the embassy and couldn't go to dinner, so he drove me there. Somebody--probably Alfred--had done a great job cleaning the leather interior; there weren't even any stains from the blood that had gotten everywhere the night of the attack. I didn't say anything about that, though. He congratulated me as he pulled up to the embassy and we made plans to go to dinner before I went home for Christmas.

Inside, Loki, Sif and Thor congratulated me before leaving, and I also had the other news about my new scholarship to tell Bucky, who said he couldn't be any prouder. I showed him the video Karen had sent, and he laughed. "Been a long time since I went dancing," he said, reminiscing briefly about going dancing with his dates before the war.

"It looks like fun," I said wistfully.

"Don't you know how to jitterbug?" he asked "Or swing?" I shook my head and he grinned. Instead of practicing hand to hand, this time he pulled up a playlist on his phone and taught me how to dance. It was enormous fun and not too hard. The only part that was a little difficult was learning to follow his lead. A lot of the moves seemed to be interchangeable between swing and jitterbug.

"Aunt Becca said you were a good dancer," I said, and he stopped. "She died in 2012, I didn't see her that last year, but before that we always saw her once or twice a year, she'd come to visit during the summer. She had funny stories about you and her other brothers." I could picture her and laughed. "She was a lot of fun."

He smiled fondly. "She always was, even as a kid. The mouth on her... it was a good thing she was so pretty, she got away with a lot. I didn't realize you knew her so well." He stepped, and showed me how to do an aerial. Then Thor and Sif, attracted by the music, came back in and wanted to learn too. I picked it up faster, but then I was more familiar with the dance than they were. Still, it was a really fun time.

"You're pretty spry for an old guy," I said to Bucky at the end of the lesson, and he laughed.

"You're a good dancer," he complimented me as he walked me out. He kissed my cheek and handed me a couple of envelopes, which I opened when I got home. One was a congratulatory card from him and Emma. The second congratulatory card was from Mr Stark; when I pulled it out of the envelope, a pendant slithered out. It was a pastel type image of Building 10 with the Great Dome, the most recognizable building on the MIT campus, with a protective layer of resin over the artwork on a dainty chain. I grumbled as I put the pendant on. Now I'd have to thank him. I wrote a thank you card for the gift, not mentioning the recommendation, as I wasn't sure whether I was supposed to know about that.

After all the excitement, finals seemed kind of like an afterthought, but I worked hard to stay motivated. The night before I went home, Sam and Mindy and I exchanged Christmas presents, and I was up early to catch a train. Dad and J picked me up. It was so good to be home. My parents wanted to see the tube, so I'd repacked everything but the acceptance of the offer, confetti and the magnet I'd given to Mindy. Mom asked whether I wanted to frame the admission certificate, but I didn't. It was cool, but with hard work I'd have the real prize in about four and a half years. I slapped the other magnet on the refrigerator door.

It was good to be home; they'd left the decorating of the tree until I got back, and it was the usual display of Dad trying to untangle the lights that had been put away neatly the year before, trying to dissuade Mom from putting up the tacky crafts J and I had made in elementary school, and bickering amiably with J about what ornament went where. This year, Dad had gotten a smoker, so for Christmas dinner, he lightly smoked a roast beef and we had that with Yorkshire puddings, roast vegetables, and a Waldorf salad. I spent a lot more time with J than was usual; he'd had a great year in football and would be a starter next year. My grades came in, straight As, and J did almost as well, with only one B. The parents were very pleased with both of us. On the 30th, Mom drove me to the train, and Bucky picked me up in the city. It was good to be back, and I had my first big New Years Eve party to get ready for.


	28. Celebration

I slept in the next day, had a late breakfast, and just sort of piddled around until it was time to get ready. Mindy helped me curl my hair (which was growing out from the layers nicely) and put it up in a pretty updo. J had given me some pretty dangly silver earrings for Christmas, and they went nicely with my dress, which had bright silver sequins at the top and faded to black at the hem. Mindy also lent me a little beaded black wool bolero, which would keep me a little warmer than the stole I'd bought for the ballet. Of course, this wasn't actually much in the way of weather protection; it was darn cold outside, but I didn't want to wear my usual jacket. Hence the bolero and the shimmery hose over my legs. What? Rill said the party was at an upscale venue; this could mean actually pretty much anything but a dive to her, but she'd gotten a flashy dress too. Mindy and Sam dropped me off at the restaurant we were meeting at for dinner beforehand; they had their own party and celebration planned.

The other girls looked all glam too and we gathered our share of looks when we were seated in the restaurant. Mindful of our silhouettes, we ate lightly, ordering a bunch of appetizers to share. Before we left the restaurant, Rill handed around the invitations and said we couldn't get in without them. My eyes widened as I saw the venue on the invitation.

"The Yale Club?" Aslyn said, fanning herself with the thick paper. "We're coming up in the world."

Rill laughed. "The boy I'm dating had the invitations. It's a big deal, it's for adults as well, there's an open bar but we won't be served there. They have a separate one set up for the underagers. And live music. And Darrell, the guy I'm dating, rounded up three friends for you guys as well."

"You have to promise that Alex gets a good guy," Karen said, laughing. "Aslyn stuck her with Damian Wayne the last time."

"He's not that bad," I said.

"What, he grew on you like fungus?" Karen quipped, and we all laughed, although I felt a little bad about it. We paid the bill and took a cab even though it was just a few blocks away. We all had horribly impractical but pretty shoes on and nobody wanted to waste our precious limited mileage slogging to the party. And none of us had on practical outerwear. We surrendered our wraps at the coat check, and handed our invitations to the guys guarding the inner door. They held the doors for us, and we went in. Like a lot of New York, this building had lovely Beaux Arts detailing and elegant, slightly stuffy appointments.

"Very posh," Aslyn said. She poked me. "MIT has an alumni club here in the city too, but it's not this opulent, I've heard."

"Want to rethink your decision to attend MIT?" a deep voice said behind me, and I turned to see Mr Wayne speaking to me. He had a glass of...some liquor, neat, and a crowd of people around him.

"I'm afraid it will take more than a beautiful clubhouse," I said. "I'm prepared to beaver away for the next four years." He caught the reference to the MIT mascot and smiled.

"Have a nice evening," he said.

"Happy New Year," I replied, and he moved on. The girls were staring at me. "What?"

"Damian's one thing, I didn't know you knew the big kahuna," Rill said.

"I met him my first day at his company," I said. "I wouldn't say I know him."

She looked like she was going to say more, but she was interrupted by a blandly cute blond guy in a suit, who gave her a kiss. She forgot Mr Wayne and introduced us. Darrell shook my hand.

"How do you know Bruce Wayne?" he asked, and I repeated that I worked for his company. "Great!" he enthused, and gestured behind me. "I've got the perfect date for you." I turned and with a certain sense of inevitability, saw Damian and two other boys behind me. The girls broke up laughing and I grinned. Damian grinned too and gave me a kiss on the cheek. Darrell didn't get the joke, but he was well mannered and introduced Karen and Aslyn to their dates. It turned out that they all went to the same prep school. Remembering Aslyn's last date with a guy from that school, I looked to see how she was taking it, but this boy seemed nicer.

We went up to the Main Lounge and got non-alcoholic drinks from the drink station set up there. I noticed that the other boys slipped flasks out of their inner suitcoat pockets and spiked their drinks and those of the girls too. "I didn't bring a flask," he said apologetically, and I waved off this crisis.

"I don't think this is really the place for it," I said thoughtfully, and he smiled.

"Not with my dad around," he said. "He's got eyes like a... hawk." I smiled. There were hors d'oeuvres being circulated, and we went ahead and sampled them. They looked lovely and were tasty. Then we ambled for a look-around; none of us girls had ever been here before. Aslyn's mom had attended Cornell so she'd been to their club, but this was the first trip to an alumni club for the rest of us. I started to wonder with the MIT club looked like. Probably less plush, more work-friendly. Then we found the band playing the most recent music and the dance floor in the Grand Ballroom, and after staking out a small table near the windows, went to dance. The group split up some after that, and all eight of us were never at the table at the same time. There were hundreds of people at this party, most of whom cycled through the ballroom, but while the adults didn't tend to stay long, the younger people did. There were two other bands playing different types of music in other rooms, and I wondered if Damian knew how to jitterbug or swing. Probably not. He wasn't at his best on the dance floor.

As the count to the new year drew close, Damian came back with two flutes of champagne, rather than the sparkling apple cider we were supposed to get. We smiled conspiratorially at each other and sipped as the president of the Yale Club took the microphone from the band's singer and thanked us for coming, hoping that we all had a wonderful, prosperous new year. I didn't actually care for the taste of the wine, it wasn't sweet enough. As he talked, my attention was caught by a tall thin figure in a black overcoat who was edging along the crowd. I nudged Damian, but he'd also seen.

As the president started the countdown to midnight, the figure lunged through the crowd and ripped the microphone away from the president, shoving him to the floor. The figure turned to face us, and the crowd gasped. The Joker leered at us, taking the hat off his head and flipping it to the side. Several of the waitstaff dropped their trays and showed guns, training both handguns and assault rifles on the crowd. Damian put our glasses on the table and eased subtly in front of me, obscuring me from notice. As people began to panic, a few henchfolk let loose a few bursts of gunfire which stopped the stampede to the exit.

"Good people of Gotham!" the Joker exclaimed, cackling as some of the party-goers were shoved back and the doors locked.

"I hate it when he calls the city that," Damian muttered.

"Why does he say that?" I whispered.

"Because he says it's a different city after dark," Damian said quietly. Huh. Made sense. "Listen. Batman broke up a prostitution ring that the Joker was bankrolling. So he's really pissed and out for revenge. Be careful and don't draw his attention."

The Joker started flicking playing cards into the crowd. "It is I, the Joker, the Clown Prince of Crime, the Harlequin of Hate, the Ace of Knaves," he introduced himself grandiloquently. There were cries from people in the crowd; the cards weren't normal playing cards, they were cutting people. He shucked off the black overcoat to reveal his normal purple suit. It was expensively tailored, but this one appeared to be made of crushed velvet. What was this, the '70s? "My invitation to this little soiree must have been lost in the mail. It's such a pleasure to wander among you, some of dark Gotham's best and brightest...and most self-important and grasping." He grabbed a woman by the throat and shook her, then released her throat and trailed his hand down her body. When her husband protested, he backhanded the man savagely and sent him staggering. "Now the man in the bat suit has deprived me of some valuable assets recently." He stroked his broad green silk tie. "Do you like it?" he asked a random man. "It's new." As the man stammered something, the knot in the tie squirted a substance onto the man's face. As the man screamed and clawed at his skin, the Joker moved on, grinning broadly, his smile never reaching his eyes. He slapped a woman and she jolted before collapsing. The Joker crowed his amusement and held up his hand; a large joy buzzer nestled in his palm.

"I'm all about bringing joy--moment by moment--to the people," he declared as people shrank back from his approach and were shoved forward by his henchfolk. "And I mean real joy, the kind that hurts nobody," he continued, his voice sliding down to a menacing growl. "Unlike you people, who trample over anybody in your way to enrich yourself. You rape and plunder companies, squash the dreams of the little guy. So tonight, you'll be providing a tribute to the city. Does anybody want to volunteer as tribute?" he said, guffawing. "No? Nobody noble? Hardly surprising," he lashed out, his voice a bitter razor. "I recently lost some whores from a business venture," he murmured, stroking the satin lapel of one man's tuxedo jacket. "The result of a raid by the Batman, of course, the police are too slow and cautious and so, so reliant on what might be termed proof... so to make up the numbers, it's time for a recruitment drive! I'll have a special festival for my comrades in what you persist in calling the criminal underworld! You--" he pointed to one man. "You've been a frequent flier at the brothel, no, no, not with the ladies!" he exclaimed to the man's wife, who looked dazed. "No, with the rent boys," he confided, in a voice that echoed through the mostly silent room. "And you should see the poor boys after... no, no, it's time for the fat cats to serve." He gestured, and a burly goon jerked the alleged client off to the side. The Joker continued his perambulations throughout the packed ballroom, making his choices.

And he didn't just take men and women, either. He separated some of the kids of the important adults as well, with comments that indicated he knew precisely who they were. More than one mother and father offered to take their child's place, but the offers were met with violence and refusal. I started to shake a little as the Joker's path brought him closer. Damian moved slowly to keep himself between me and the Joker. I felt like I should tell him to look out for himself first, but I was grateful for his effort. The Joker fucking terrified me. The crazy rolled off him like miasma, but he seemed sane enough to plan and execute a complex plan. As he ambled closer, I took in the details of his appearance. He made the best of his accessories; his clothing, although...eccentric, was made from fine cloth and well tailored and he was clean and well groomed. He carried a walking stick, apparently a new affectation, black with a brass ball at the top. His looks, though... his slightly wavy hair was slicked back with pomade, making the washed-out green look darker. The rictus grin exposed yellow teeth; had he not heard of Crest white strips? and his eyes were also yellowish, making me wonder if he had jaundice. His skin was irregularly white, not an optically-bright white like old-fashioned greasepaint, but sickly grayish-white. Poorly applied carmine lipstick accentuated his mouth and the scars that ran outward.

Damian cursed as the Joker selected a tall, slim boy; his mother lunged for the Joker, who flipped his grip on his walking stick and casually but powerfully swung at the woman. She was sent sideways from the force of the blow and lay still on the parquet floor, blood spilling from her head at an alarming rate. There were screams and groans and gagging noises. I thought I'd be sick. Damian gently pressed me back, but alas, there were no convenient curtains to hide behind.

Then the Joker was right there, pushing his elongated face into Damian's space. "What have we here?" he exclaimed joyously. "The Waynelet! I hardly expected such a delightful trophy! Yes, oh, yes, you'll be a fine addition to my enterprise! Although I'll have to hide you carefully, your father has eyes everywhere..." One of the henchmen made to hit Damian at his resistance and was backhanded by the Joker for his trouble. "Not the face, imbecile, not that pretty face...where's the fun if he's not recognized by the customers?" So the henchman buried his fist in Damian's abdomen instead. I winced, hoping that he was completely healed from the parking garage misadventure. "And who's this pretty poppet?" I heard, and the Joker's gloved hand closed on my upper arm as he jerked me forward.

"She's nobody important," Damian said quickly, trying to straighten up.

"I think you're wrong, boy," the Joker said with silky menace. A minion muttered to him, and the grin grew. "This underling saw her speaking with your father earlier. And she's here with you, so she's at least tangentially important, at least to you... there must be something entertaining I can do with her..." He shoved me toward one of his goons; one of my heels skidded on the wood and I started to trip. The Joker's iron grip caught me before I could fall. "No, no, pretty, no breaking of limbs just yet." The henchmen dragged us over to the others who'd been singled out. Some of them, male as well as female, were crying. Damian unobtrusively held my ice-cold hand in his inexplicably warmer one. Then I remembered what he did on his off nights, and started to feel marginally better. I reminded myself that I wasn't without skills myself. It would be a question of choosing my moment. I felt like I had a little Bucky sitting on my shoulder, coaching me, and I stopped shaking. These guys had no idea what I could unleash. Damian knew there was a change immediately and shot me a look.

"Pick the moment," was all I said, and his face lost some of its pinched paleness. Huh. Maybe he needed a reminder that we weren't helpless too. And I had stiletto heels on my sandals, weapons. That was it, though. My evening bag was back on the table, but the most threatening thing in that was a mascara wand. Although those did hurt if you poked your eye accidentally.

"Shut up," one of the minions said menacingly, and slapped the back of my head. I glared at him. "Wonder if the Joker will be giving us an employee discount?" he leered, and I curled my lip. I wasn't planning on staying around long enough to find out. Then the Joker gestured, and the doors were flung open, the Joker heading the parade. We were shoved along behind him and down the grand staircase. I saw Mr Wayne in the crowd, his eyes focused and determined as he understood at least the gist of the whole undertaking. He saw me too, and I mouthed 'Bucky' to him. His eyes slit and he surged forward as there was a delay at the main door where the Joker took the time to abuse the doormen. It was enough for Mr Wayne to grip my shoulder, his fingers on the strap of my dress. His gaze slid sideways to his son and he nodded before stepping back into the crowd. Then the doors were thrown wide and we were shoved into a series of nasty looking vans with no windows in the back. I planned on paying attention to see if I could determine where we were going, but one of the henchwomen flipped a grenade into the back of the van I was in--Damian and I were separated--and an evil green gas rolled out. It had a bitter, acrid taste, and that was it.

I woke up when I was dropped onto a dirty concrete floor. I had a terrible headache from the gas and looked around groggily, having to shake back some of my hair which was down in my face. Everybody seemed to be in the same condition I was. We were in a vast, empty building, cold and clammy, with pendant lights far above us. So a warehouse, but there were no shortages of them around the city. The minions moved among us, ziptying our hands behind our backs. Some of the...what to call us? Were we hostages? Could you be a hostage if no ransom was being asked? I was assuming here, but the Joker hadn't said we were being kept for a ransom. Well, hostage was as good a word as any, I supposed. Some of the hostages had a bad reaction to either the situation or the gas and were throwing up, adding an extra-special dimension to our captivity that had been previously lacking. I saw Damian about ten feet away, though, and felt better; at least I wasn't alone. We waited, though not quietly; some people cried, some tried to bribe goons. These people were listened to, then hit or kicked into silence. I just shivered; too bad my dress wasn't flannel under the sequins. I was envious of a woman who'd had the sense to wear an evening suit. I focused on trying to remember a video I'd seen on YouTube about how to escape from zipties. My head itched suddenly, and I was reminded that I had hairpins as well in my tiny arsenal. We were not allowed to change places. One man tried to crawl to the side but was kicked in the stomach; he writhed on the ground and moaned.

"No moving around," one of the goons barked, and nobody else so much as twitched.

Finally a door opened and the Joker arrived, dragging cold, foggy air behind him. He observed us, cackling and rubbing his hands together."Lovely," he crooned. "It's not so much fun when you're the ones being exploited, is it?" he snapped at one of the civic leaders he'd singled out. He nodded in satisfaction, that lunatic evil grin splitting his face.

He sorted out a large group of people, telling his underlings to take them to replace the ones who'd been liberated in Batman's raid. Then he sorted out more, cackling, saying that Penguin was working with Scarecrow and needed some test subjects. That left just Damian and me. Nobody said anything further until the last of the other hostages had been dragged out.

"What to do with the pair of you?" he asked, standing between us and assessing us. "Something very special, but what?" He captured my chin in his long, strong fingers. "Why so serious? You might not be related to anybody important, but you still could be a lot of fun, pretty. Well... I could have fun, anyway." He stepped away from me and considered, tapping his chin. "You look pretty, pretty, but to those with the eye, and that includes most of the people at that party, you're just looking to ape your social betters. Cheap dress, off the rack, cheap silver earrings, a homemade hairstyle." He continued to study me. "What, no cries of outrage?"

"Well, it's true that I bought the dress at a department store, and it was on sale, too. It was off the rack, and the earrings are mass produced and silver. I did curl and arrange my hair at home rather than going to a salon, so honestly, I can't say you're wrong. About that."

His mad eyes shot to slits. "What is it, do you think, that I'm wrong about?"

"I'm not out to imitate anybody."

I immediately wished I hadn't said anything and braced myself for a blow. But the Joker laughed instead, a hyena clarion. "You fancy yourself an original, do you?" he said finally, wiping his eyes with his hand. Unlike me, no color rubbed off at this treatment.

I managed a small shrug. "I don't know how original I am. I just wear what I like."

"Ah, I see the attraction," he crooned. "There aren't many girls who speak their minds around the rich and powerful, even it's just the untrained offspring of the rich and powerful. You probably amuse him, but I imagine, given the opportunity, that you'd take to Baby Wayne's lifestyle easily enough." I shuddered. "Do you think I'm funny?" he asked, his tone getting dark and dangerous. Mercurial isn't even the word for him.

"Well, normally there's an element of humor," I said, not knowing which way to jump. "You're just not correct in this instance. In his world, I'm a target."

"Huh." He considered. "It's true I wasn't out for the nobodies tonight. Terrorizing the hoi polloi was a treat for other nights." He sauntered over to Damian and kicked his thigh. Damian glared up at him. "Getting her kidnapped is not the way to a lady's heart, kid. Or any other body part, actually." He cackled some more, and I prayed for patience for Damian. "Well. As I say, this is too delicious to rush. I must come up with an appropriate scenario for the two of you." He summoned a henchwoman with the crook of a finger and gave her instructions, then swirled and headed for the door. Two big goons hauled Damian and me to our feet and pushed us toward the door. When we got outside, the Joker was already gone. We were tossed into the back of the remaining van and driven away.


	29. Peril

There was a drive, I couldn't tell how long. A goon sat in the back with us; he had a gun and a hard look on his face and there was no talking. We rattled along sitting on the rusting metal floor of the van, getting bounced around every time the tires hit a defect in the road. When the van stopped and the engine turned off, I figured that we were there, wherever there turned out to be. By the river was my guess from the smell, and when we were shoved out I could actually see the water. We were led into a tunnel; at first it was a natural cavern, but it gave way to an excavated passage that was also dank and malodorous, in keeping with the dead fish smell in the cavern. We splashed through puddles on the stone floor and ultimately shoved into one of several small cells that were fronted with rusting bars. The original huge manual lock was still on the door, but the real security was provided by bars that shot out of the ceiling and floor, triggered by a key card and reader. My faint hope of using bobby pins to my advantage withered and died. Not that I knew how to pick locks, but I bet Damian had at least tried. The only good thing was that they cut off the zipties on our wrists. Mine had been too tight and my hands were swollen and wrists cut. The cell was empty of furniture but there was some sand on the floor, which for some reason made me feel better although it provided scant cushioning. Damian offered me his coat, but I refused; there wasn't any point in both of us being cold. We sat down side by side, leaning against the cold wall; I think we were both dispirited. There hadn't been any opportunities to realistically attempt an escape; we'd had three guards with guns the whole drive. My shivering got too much for Damian, and I sat between his legs, leaning back against him, his arms loosely around me and my hands on top of his. We were both warmer for this arrangement. Both of us looked around but couldn't see any surveillance. Didn't mean it wasn't there, though, and neither of us had much to say.

Finally, though, I had to go to the bathroom, so we yelled until one of the goons showed up. I explained the issue, and he resentfully took me to a dirty bathroom. Still, beggars can't be choosers, so I made the best of it, washing my hands and face in the lukewarm water, and when I was returned to the cell, they took Damian. When he was returned, we settled back again and I took a little nap.

I jolted awake when a guard entered the cell and pulled me to my feet. The second guard came in and did the same to Damian, but he pulled Damian out of the cell. The first goon followed them out and locked the door behind him. I watched to see where he put the card for the lock. His went in his shirt pocket.

Then all I could do was wait. Damian was a huge psychological comfort as well as a source of warmth. I didn't have a watch; I depended on my phone to let me know what time it was. If I got out of this, I was going to get myself a wristwatch ASAP. When. When I got out. When WE got out. We. I was shivering from cold and anxiety by the time they returned. I was on my feet instantly; they were dragging Damian between them and they flung him into the cell. I turned toward him as he slithered down the wall, but I wasn't able to check on him. The guard grabbed my upper arm and yanked me out; the second guard took care of the door and followed us. My impractical shoes were a real hazard on the slippery, uneven rock floor, and once when I fell he just dragged me along until we reached the destination, a room much farther back along the corridor.

I hated it instantly although it was warmer. For one thing, the Joker was there, sitting on the only chair. Secondly, he had a gun. An absurdly big gun. Thirdly, a total of three goons were in the room, including my two guards. And fourthly, a woman leaned over his shoulder, the infamous Harley Quinn. She made the level of crazy amp up.

"Pick her up," the Joker said coldly. The goons pulled me to my feet, holding me with hands clamped over my biceps. I began to shake in earnest. The Joker stood up, brushing Harley off, and strolled over to circle me. He stood too close, and I could see that his skin was peeling. There was no inflammation, so it was probably a normal condition brought about by the chemical bath that had turned him into ...this. And there was an odor to him, sour, the smell of hamburger just as it starts to turn. He was quite a bit taller than me; my eyes were on the level of his tie bar. "Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?" he asked me almost cordially. "I went through a phase when that was my catchphrase," he mused, looking me up and down. "Haven't for years. But you make me feel like dancing. Of course, there's dancing, and then there's dancing. Get out of here, Harley," he snapped, turning suddenly, and she stood straight to glare at him.

I glanced at her, terrified. She was another woman. If she was being sent away, that couldn't be good for me. "Mr J--" she said, but he cut her off.

"Get the fuck out of here, Harley," he growled, his voice changing to a buzzsaw rasp. She sauntered over and looked at me. There was faint bruising on her face. Then she reached over and plucked something from the strap of my dress.

"Cheap dresses are always losing sequins," she said to me dismissively, looking at it casually. Then she straightened the Joker's lapel, and pivoted and left the room. As soon as her footsteps faded away, he put his hand on the neck of my dress and pulled. But the fabric was stretchy and didn't rip. He snarled, then leaned forward; his rough jaw was coarse against my cheek. He yanked the skirt of my dress up and ran his hand up my leg and ripped a hole in the crotch of my hose, thrusting his hand inside my panties.

"No!" I shouted, and twisted away from his probing fingers. He backhanded me, throwing me off balance. The guards struggled to keep me upright and his fist hit my face this time, making me scream. This was nothing like boxing, even sparring. I couldn't fight back and there were no rules. A couple more blows to my face had my eye swelling and nose bleeding. I took two hits to my midsection, barely missing my ribs, and crying and gasping for breath, I hung between the two goons, sagging, eye to eye with the Joker's growing erection.

"Pretty, pretty, not so pretty," he said excitedly, and undid his belt, whipping it through the loops on his pants and cracking it against my leg. I screamed. He chuckled darkly. "Oh, pretty, not so pretty, am I going to have some fun with you." He whipped my arms and legs a couple more times with the belt, then coiled it around his hand. Then he undid his pants and pressed my head down.

Nope. I surprised everybody, including myself, by headbutting the Joker's crotch with everything I had. He started to fold and sink , his mouth twisting in a silent scream, and I took advantage of the guards' temporarily loosened grip to punch one as hard as I could in the groin and twisted away from the other. But the Joker grabbed my ankle and pulled, and I fell heavily. "Put her back in the fucking cell," he barked thinly at the remaining guard, and turned the full force of his malevolent insanity on me as the guard heaved me up. "You shouldn't have done that, bitch. You're going to regret it. And you'll be regretting it for a long time as you beg me to kill you. But I won't, bitch. I'll play with you until I'm bored. Then I'll give you to to my minions, who won't be fussy about what you look like, bitch. You could have been my next squeeze, but you had to ruin it. Harley's been a good time, but she's getting some years on her," he growled painfully, his hands protectively cupping himself. "Go!" The man dragged me out of the room and back to the cell, throwing me against the wall. I waited until he locked the door and started walking away before dropping down by Damian.

He was only semiconscious, and his handsome face was a mess. There were several cuts to his arms, but the ones on his left arm were bleeding a lot more than the ones on his right. I had a plan now, but I had to act fast. I took off my shoes, hastily stripped off my ruined hose and tore it along the crotch seam, making two halves. I wrapped one half on his upper arm as tightly as I could but couldn't get it to make a real tourniquet. It slowed the bleeding, at least. I tried not to look at the gore in the sand under him; it wouldn't do any good and my throwing up would burn valuable time. I'd kind of counted on Damian being able to move by now, but if I wanted to get out of here, I was going to have to transport him. I undid his pants and worked them down his legs and over his shoes. I was relieved to note in passing that he had boxers on tonight.

Then I put the crotch of the pants at his spine and put each pant leg under an arm. His wallet fell out, and I stuffed that in his inner coat pocket. I rolled him onto his back, put my shoes on again, and took a cuff in each hand and pulled him over to the bars. Ok. This was going to work. I fished a key card out of the front of my dress. I'd taken it from the shirt pocket of the goon I'd dropped. My hands were shaking but not too badly, and I got the swipe right on the first try. I didn't know if I'd need it again so I tucked it back in over my boob and dragged Damian out and down the hall.

It was slow going. The floor was uneven and I had to stop to strip off my shoes; one heel had broken and I couldn't drag Damian in four inch heels, especially if I staggered. I looped the straps over my hands and picked up the cuffs again. I needed to hurry, but Damian was heavier than he looked, the pants weren't the most effective towing equipment, and my wrist hurt from where I'd landed on the floor in the room. The corridor seemed endless and I was panting in terror and exertion when we finally hit the cavern. I was counting on the van still being parked outside. Otherwise... I shifted my mind away from what the Joker would do to us if he caught up and redoubled my effort.

I whimpered when I saw Harley near the entrance. So close, so close. She turned when she heard me and we stared at each other for a moment. Then she looked out the entrance and sighed. Then she started over. I had to fight the urge to drop Damian and try to get past her. It was a real fight; everybody in the city knew that the Joker had driven noted psychiatrist Dr Harleen Quinzel nuts. Violently nuts, in fact, and I wondered if she'd heard the Joker say he was planning on replacing her. And if she'd take it out on me.

But all she did was take one of the cuffs from me and together we dragged Damian out of the cavern. The van was still there and she opened the cargo doors and helped slide him inside. Then she walked away, past the van, and I saw that there was an old Mercedes Benz parked by an outcropping of rock. There was no doubt to whom it belonged; it was painted a bright metallic purple with a kind of tribal flame design on the sides in neon green. I closed the van doors and went around to the drivers side.

I had started to pull the door open, but a hand on the glass slammed it shut and I looked up to see the goon who'd dragged me back to the cell. The Mercedes peeled away with a rooster tail of sand, no more help from Harley. He smashed his fist in my face and I fell back. But the sudden pain unlocked anger that swamped the terror and I relaxed into a disciplined stance. I could almost hear my uncle coaching me as I blocked the next blow and raked the heel of my sandal across his face, gouging him deeply. He shrieked and a strike from the heel of my hand broke his nose. I pivoted and caught his windpipe with my elbow, then a kick to the midsection pushed him back and out of the way. I jumped into the cab of the van and almost wept to see the keys still in the ignition. I followed Harley's tracks out of there and soon we were on the road. The dawn was breaking, and I was able to determine which way back to the city. And/or the nearest hospital.

It was a silent drive. There was no radio in the van. Damian occasionally moaned, but that was it. I white-knuckled the wheel and put my foot down. There was no pursuit that I could see. I was just starting to relax when there was a loud thump on the roof, right overhead, and I screamed as the windshield exploded and a hand grabbed the steering wheel, struggling with me for control before yanking it to the side and putting the van into the ditch running beside the road.


	30. Pain

My head whacked the steering wheel when we crashed. This van was very old school, no air bags or seatbelts or really any safety features beyond the brakes, and those were kind of spongy. I put my hand to my forehead and felt rage boiling up inside. I was really trying to do the right thing and get my friend to the hospital and now some asshole just took out the windshield and crashed the only vehicle I had access to. A clink from the passenger side drew my attention to a pipe rolling around on the floor, so I grabbed that and threw open the door. I could vaguely see a figure ahead so I kind of skipped a couple steps and swung the pipe, developing torque from the twist at my knees and hips and really belted the asshole good.

Or tried to; there was a clang and the feeling of slight give; I'd hit metal. Whatever. "Son of a bitch!" I yelled, giving in to the dark side and swinging with everything I had. This one caught the guy on the hip and there were similar results.

"Whoa, there, Satan, calm down," a familiar voice said, slightly alarmed, catching my wrist. Which was the wrist I'd hurt back in the cave. My knees buckled under the onslaught of pain and the anger drained away, leaving me running on fumes and despair, hanging from some guy's grip.

"You need to get out of my way," I said flatly, summoning everything I've got left. "I have a friend in the back of that van who needs a hospital really quick."

The grip on my wrist released and I crumpled unexpectedly to the asphalt. Damn, that hurt too. "Alex?" the voice said incredulously, and a bright light shined suddenly in my eyes. I averted my eyes as I slumped, defeated, and I started to cry. This was the shittiest new year ever. How did this guy know my name?

As I started to ponder that, there was a smooth movement and Mr Stark's face was revealed. He looked puzzled, but he got on his comm device and started talking. I didn't care anymore. With a major effort, I got to my feet and wobbled to the back, opening the door and crawling in to check on Damian. Mr Stark followed me and shined his bright light inside so I could see. Damian looked pretty much the same except that at least the blood wasn't flowing as energetically. I pressed on a big blood vessel in his throat and was relieved to feel the pulse jump under my fingers. I held my inner wrist over his mouth and felt faint puffs of breath; gingerly I patted his chest in approval. I felt myself pitch forward into blackness.

I woke up to somebody patting my cheeks forcefully. "Dammit! Stop hitting me!" I complained, and the aggressive patting stopped.

"You scared the hell out of me, kid," Mr Stark said. "Backup's coming." And indeed, there was a powerful whirring sound and headlights flooded the back of the van. I started to sit up and was swamped by nausea. I breathed shallowly to avoid throwing up on poor Damian, who had enough to contend with.

"The Joker and some goons are in a cave back there--" I waved in the direction I'd been driving. "It's a natural cavern that has an excavated tunnel at the end. There are cells on the left side and some rooms farther down. I took the van and Harley took the Joker's car, so he might still be there," I rattled off, trying to get the important information out. Mr Stark nodded and stepped back.

"This is looking disturbingly familiar," a gruff deep voice said with a flapping sound. I focused and saw Batman, cape and all. "It'll be tight, but I can fit them both in the Batmobile." After a moment's study, he hit some buttons on the key fob and asked me to scoot forward. He helped me out of the back of the van, scooped me up, and placed me carefully in the little niche behind the drivers seat. "I'm going to lower the seat back," he warned me, and I made myself as comfortable as I could as the other seat went back until it touched the back of the compartment just above my knees. A minute later he was laying Damian on the seat, buckling him in. Damian moaned a little and his dad froze.

"He's been doing that," I whispered, and Batman quickly shut the door. A few seconds later, the car shifted as he got in and he smoothly pulled back onto the road, accelerating quickly. My head tapped the divider behind me and I bit back a moan of my own. It wasn't too long before we slowed for the sharp turn, there was a rough ride down the awful dirt road, then the relief of pavement. The car stopped quickly and the passenger door was thrown open and Alfred's face wavered into view.

"Dear God," he said, sounding genuinely appalled. It was the first time he hadn't sounded calm and reassuring, in my short acquaintance with him. He carefully started to shift Damian, and Mr Wayne slid his seat forward so I could extract myself. The wheelchair was at the rear bumper, and he helped me into it, wheeling me briskly inside and taking a left.

"Barnes is on his way," he said quietly as he wheeled me into the clinic part. The lights came up and he put me up on the table. There was the light show I remembered from my first encounter in the surgical suite, then the computer--in Alfred's voice--listed what ailed me.

"Multiple contusions and lacerations to her face, concussion, bruises and scrapes on her extremities, deep abdominal bruising, broken wrist, severe cuts and damage to the soles of her feet."

"Alex, sweetie," my uncle whispered from the door. "Oh, sweetie. Can you fix her here, Wayne, or do I need to get her to a hospital?"

"We should be able to help her here," Mr Wayne said, distracted. "Let me check on my son first--"

"Of course," Bucky said, and Mr Wayne brushed past him. Bucky came in and started to pick the hairpins out of my hair, pushing the rats' nest that had been my hairdo out of my face. After that he sat on the table beside me and put his arm around me carefully and I sagged against him. We sat there in silence until Mr Wayne came back, pulling off the bat cowl and rubbing his head.

"He's got a cracked skull and some brain swelling, they worked him over pretty well. Alfred's taking care of the swelling, giving him some blood, taking care of the cuts on his arms." Mr Wayne's face darkened with fury. "But he's going to be ok. You got him out of there before the swelling started to damage the brain. What I'm going to do is clean and treat your feet, then pop you in the tissue accelerator. Then you can shower, and we'll take care of your wrist. By that time the police will be here to take your statement."

I looked at the sole of my foot as he finished speaking, and shrieked. They weren't hurting until I saw the lacerations on the soles, thickly crusted with blood and debris. "Jesus, Alex," Bucky said, and then he passed out. Mr Wayne snorted a laugh and pulled him off the treatment table, dropping him in the wheelchair.

"Lie on your stomach, Alex," he said wearily, and I complied. "I'm going to numb your feet, then wash off the blood and debris. I might have to pick out some embedded materials. Then I'll loosely wrap them, and we'll go straight to the accelerator." I heard my uncle stir. "You might want to stay there, Barnes, this isn't going to be pretty." I felt a wet swabbing at several points on each foot. "I'm going to numb several places on each of your feet because the damage is extensive, as you saw," he said gently, and I winced as the needle went in the first time. That seemed to wake up the nerve endings and I tensed. "Try to relax," Mr Wayne urged. I tried to stay silent, but the tears leaked out regardless and when I sniffled, Bucky came to the head of the table, keeping his back to the activity, and gave me a handkerchief, stroking my hair as I dried my face. I needed to get him some handkerchiefs; I seemed to always have half a dozen of his at any given time. I felt light pressure and heard dripping sounds, the sound of material being tossed into a metal pan, the occasional rattle of what he'd politely termed 'debris.' I relaxed a little as the pain died down to throbbing, but every now and then an imperfectly numbed nerve made its outrage felt. Finally, I felt wrapping as a roll of gauze went around me feet, and I wearily sat up. Bucky swung me over to the wheelchair and steered me in next door. I sat on the edge of the treatment platform as my uncle programed the instrument. Then I remembered and fished the card out of the front of my dress.

"Here," I told him. "This is the key card I stole to get out of the cell." His face brightened and he took the card by the edges, although probably the goon's finger prints were long gone.

"Ok, Alex, Stark went after the Joker. I'll find out what's been going on while you get your treatment," he said reassuringly, and closed the door behind him. I peeled off my dress and lay back, tired to the bone. The top part descended, and I hoped for a nap, but my head throbbed, my wrist hurt, and pretty much everything else ached with varying intensity. When the top retracted, I sat up and saw that the bruises were dark on my skin; I'd have to have another treatment. Or maybe I'd just let this go and heal naturally. I could wear long sleeves. I checked under the gauze on my feet and found that the skin was whole again but tender. I sighed and pushed to my feet. Outside, the area was deserted, so I shuffled off down the hall to the wonderful bathroom. There was an enormous stack of towels and two sets of clothes, so I locked the door, took the gauze off my feet, and stripped off the dress one last time, tossing it in the trash can. It was definitely the worse for wear. The good thing about clothes on sale is that you can throw them away without regret.

The hot shower was literal heaven and I discovered a steam feature for extra warmth. I'd have liked to stay there until the hot water ran out, but there were still things to do. I dressed in one set of clothing and took the comb with me as I tried to detangle. It was going to take awhile with only one arm. Next door, Alfred was finishing cleaning the surgical suite."Miss Alex," he said warmly, tossing the last paper towels and setting down the spray bottle. "Let's get your wrist taken care of. I can also give you a medication to heal your concussion," he said, helping me onto the table. The lights activated again and an image of my wrist popped up onscreen. "It's not so much your wrist as it is the head of the ulna," he said thoughtfully, pointing out the chunk of bone that had chipped off. "Two little screws and you won't even have to have a cast."

"Ok," I said wearily. I just wanted to go home and pass out for a few days.

"I can give you the medication for the concussion now as well," he said, stepping over to the drug cabinet. "It's in the late stage of its clinical trial and it should be approved by the FDA by the end of the year. It actually heals the damage from this and also any past trauma," he added. "There is a tendency in some patients to experience a temporary alteration in the senses; you might see different colors, for example. If you do experience any disturbance in the way you perceive reality, please let me know. The effect is temporary when it occurs, and it doesn't affect everyone."

"Ok," I said again. He had me lay down on the table, put a little pillow under my head and flicked a blanket over me.

"I don't want to give you a general anesthesia with the concussion, so we're going with a light sedation and local anesthetic at the site of the incision," he said reassuringly. I nodded, and he gave me an injection that made me feel all floaty. I closed my eyes and barely winced when he ran an IV line. This was both for hydration and to administer the concussion stuff. Then there was a pinch on my other arm just above the wrist, which I barely registered. I just floated along, occasionally feeling pressure, until Alfred told me with satisfaction that we were done. I dragged my eyes open and he helped me to sit up. He checked my feet and gave me a couple more tests to check the concussion.

"How's Damian?" I asked.

"He'll also be getting an accelerator treatment after the police have seen him," he said, helping me down. I was bone weary, but whatever that sedation stuff was, it worked fast and didn't leave any grogginess. "The skull fracture itself will have to heal naturally, but the swelling has been relieved and he is alert and talking. But he will be fine. Once again, you have saved him."

Before I could say anything, Mr Wayne's voice came over the intercom. "The police are at the gate, Alfred. Is Alex ready to come up?"

"She has finished treatment," Alfred clarified. I sighed and shoved off the table. My feet were still a little tender, and I minced a little on the way to the elevator. Alfred showed me into the library again where Bucky and Mr Wayne were sitting. I'd just sat down on the sofa when Alfred escorted a plain clothes detective and an officer in uniform into the room. "Detective MacIver and Officer Roberts, sir."

McIver looked around and addressed me, asking my name and age. Since I was legal, I could have a lawyer with me, but otherwise, the others had to go. I repressed a snort. Like that would stop them from listening in. Smoothly, Mr Wayne offered the use of a voice-to-text computer program that could be immediately printed out and signed as my statement. The detective brightened, and it was set up. The detective seated himself behind the desk to make sure the program correctly interpreted what I said, and we started out with my basic information--name, address, occupation, why I was at the Yale Club. I gave my friends' names, but I never bothered to learn their numbers because they were in my phone. McIver passed on that and asked me for an account of the evening from the time we reached the club. I told him about how Rill's date had arranged dates for the rest of us, briefly running into Mr Wayne--which necessitated a side explanation of how I knew him, I glossed over the whole thorny issue of how people had tried to get me fired. I also explained how I'd known Damian before tonight. Then we quickly got up to the time of the invasion by the Joker. He obviously knew what had happened and his questions focused on what I'd seen and done.

I described how Damian had put himself between me and the Joker. "I'd have hidden if there'd been any place to do it," I said. "I'm not brave. Damian did the best he could. The Joker knew who he was." I described being rounded up and herded down the stairs to the vans, seeing the gas grenade, waking up in the warehouse, how everybody else had been marched away.

"We found the first group of hostages at the brothel," MacIver said. "Joker's plan had some flaws, like how to integrate the hostages with their intended purpose. The pimp who runs the place has a process for breaking in new prostitutes and didn't know how to deal with the influx. They were terrorized but ok. We found the second group about twenty minutes ago; Scarecrow is trying to develop a serum to induce terror and had treated a couple of them right away. They'll be taken to the hospital. The rest look ok." I nodded, and he had me describe the ride and the cave. The cells, what I'd seen of the layout. He had me make a sketch. I described how Damian had been taken away, saying that he hadn't been conscious when he'd been returned and I'd been taken away.

I started to describe what had happened, then stopped. "Isn't there a policewoman I could talk to about this?" I asked plaintively, threading my fingers into my hair and picking at the knots.

"Not right now," MacIver said. "I can promise we'll be professional." I bared my teeth at him.

"Just what I want," I said nastily, finding the comb in my pocket and starting on the snarls. "More men." I brought my legs up, using them as a barrier between them and me, turning away slightly. I focused on my hair as I recited the facts to the point when the Joker ordered me back to the cell.

MacIver cleared his throat. "The Joker inserted his fingers into your vagina?"

"Yes," I said, pulling another lock of hair over my face to work on.

"Do you want to go to a hospital to be checked out?"

"No."

"He hit your face and your abdomen and struck you with his belt?"

"Yes."

"And he tried to make you perform oral sex on him?"

"Yes."

"And you almost got away, but the Joker grabbed your ankle and you fell."

"Yes. That was when I got the card key to the cell. The goon bent over and I took the card out of his shirt pocket and stuffed it down the front of my dress." I put the comb down, finished with my hair.

He repeated what the Joker had threatened me with. "Yes."

"What happened then?"

"I was taken back to the cell. I wanted to get out of there before they came back." I described how I'd used part of my pantyhose to slow the bleeding to the worst of Damian's cuts and fashioned a sling from his pants.

The detective laughed.

"You think any of this is funny?" I demanded to know in fury, clawing the hair back from my face.

"No," he said hastily. "This isn't funny at all. It's just that it was a very creative solution. It's admirable that you were able to solve a problem so fast." I subsided slowly.

"I want to be an engineer," I muttered. Then I told how I dragged Damian down the hall into the cavern, about encountering Harley and how she helped me, how I unloaded on the goon, driving away.

"Then what happened?" MacIver pressed.

My mouth tightened. "Fucking Iron Man happened," I said, practically spitting the words out. "I was looking for signs to a hospital or police or a firehouse or something, and there was this thud on the roof, right above me. Then a hand came through the windshield and he forced the van off the road." I was still outraged. "I hit my head on the steering wheel. There was a pipe rolling around on the floor by the passenger seat, so I grabbed it and went out. I hit him a couple times, the suit, I mean, before I recognized him. I didn't expect Iron Man to show up. Then I went to check on Damian, and Mr Wayne showed up and brought us here."

"How did he know where to find you?"

"Beats me. He and Stark probably know each other. You'll have to ask them."

I was more vague when describing what had happened, saying only that I took a shower and I'd been given some of Damian's clothes to wear. "Where is your dress?" MacIver asked.

"In the trash can of the bathroom," I muttered. "I can get it for you if you want it."

"Please. What happened to your shoes?"

"I took them off," I said, rubbing my eyes. "I couldn't tow Damian in high heels, so I looped them over my hands. One heel was broken anyway. I gouged the guy at the van with the other, so there should be one on the beach? I don't remember."

"Ok," said MacIver. "Would you please retrieve the dress?" Wanting to get it over with, I padded out and down the hall, where I encountered Alfred bringing it to me. Of course, everybody would have heard. My mood did not improve. I took the dress silently and returned to the library, where I dropped it into a paper evidence bag held out by Office Roberts. Then MacIver had me read over what the computer program had captured, then printed it out and I signed it. He handed me his card.

"Call me if you remember anything else," he said. "I'll be in touch."

"Please call my cell phone," I requested. He nodded.

"Get some ice on those bruises," he recommended and said I could go. Bucky met me in the hall, his face puce with rage. Once again, we left the Wayne mansion in his car.

I broke the silence. "Do you think we could stop by the tower, see if I could get my face treated again?" I asked, and he nodded.

"We can ask," he agreed. "If not, they have cosmetics there that will hide them. I'm going to kick Stark's ass," he growled. "There was an APB on the vans, but he didn't have to run you off the road." Well, that explained that part. After a moment, he said, "Bruce told me that he'd put a tracker on your dress but there wasn't a signal from the van."

I considered that. "Harley picked what looked like a large sequin off my dress," I said thoughtfully. "She put it on the Joker, I think." I recalled how she'd adjusted his suit lapel, then nodded. "On the underside." Bucky grinned and called Stark, relaying the information. It wasn't long before we were rolling down the ramp to the underground parking at the tower. We took the elevator straight up to the clinic, where they agreed that I could have another short accelerator treatment. True to form, the bruises had bloomed after the first treatment; the second one helped some. When I came out, Natasha was there talking with Bucky in Russian. She frowned when she saw me and muttered a final comment.

"Looks like you'll need these after all," she said in English, waving some tubes at me. She combined three different colors of concealer to come up with a perfect match for my face and a different one for the lighter skin on my neck. She showed me how to apply it and I watched in wonder as all traces of the bruising went away. She put the rest of the custom-blended colors into two new specimen vials--it really took very little of the stuff to cover-- and put a small bottle down; this was a special product to remove it. She patted my shoulder gently. "If you want to talk about it, call me." Then we went back down to the car and headed for home. At last.

"What are you going to tell Sam and Mindy?" Bucky asked as we drove.

"That I was there and was roughed up a little," I said. He nodded. Then I smiled as I remembered something. "But they shouldn't be home yet." The clock on the dash said it was only ten past nine. "They were going to a party themselves then spend the rest of the night upstairs at the hotel. They said they'd see me this afternoon."

"Call me if you need anything, sweetie," he said as he pulled up to the curb.

"I just want to go to sleep," I said, and finally yawned.

"Call me when you wake up, let me know you're ok," he requested, and I nodded. Then I swore as I realized that I didn't have my keys. They were in my purse, wherever that was. Bucky just smiled, escorted me to the door, and picked the lock easily. I shook my head, turned off the alarm, and kissed his cheek goodbye. With one last effort, I found Aslyn's cell phone number in the notebook where she'd written it when we first met and called her, leaving a message that I was all right and asking if she knew where my purse was. Then, finally, I stretched out on my bed, pulled up the comforter, and went to sleep.


	31. Depressed

I woke up around two and felt slightly better. I took a nice long bath with some Epsom salts, then applied my super concealer and dressed in my own clothes. I called Bucky first and left a message that I was up and ok. Then I bit the bullet and called my folks; they were silent when I told them what had happened, and for the first time, my dad asked if I wanted to transfer home. I said no, that it had been a fluke that I'd been at the club, and that I'd just been bruised a little. I don't think they were really happy about it, but this really had been a coincidence. I texted the girls to let them know I was ok, and got a return text from Aslyn; she'd kept her head and retrieved my purse as well as the bolero I'd borrowed from Mindy, and we met for a late lunch. She had seen the Joker single us out and wanted to know what happened. I gave her a slightly misleading account that indicated that I'd been with the group sent to the brothel and quickly rescued. I didn't know anybody in that group, so I bet nobody would be able to gainsay me. Aslyn shook her head and said she was glad nothing horrible had happened. "That makes two of us," I said, and she hugged me and picked up the tab. On my way home, I ducked into a department store and bought a watch that was supposed to be extra rugged, for extreme sports enthusiasts. It was water-resistant to 50 meters and had a compass built in. That could be helpful. And while I was there, I also picked out half a dozen fine linen men's handkerchiefs for Bucky. And then I went back and bought myself some because they were just so handy. Plus if a borrowed one got stained and I couldn't get it out, I could substitute one of mine. I had just gotten home and put Mindy's bolero on the bed when they got home. Amazingly, they hadn't heard about the dustup at the Yale Club, so I filled them in on my edited story.

They were appalled and felt terrible that they hadn't known. I thought they were lucky, and said that they deserved a nice night out and nothing truly terrifying had happened. Sam turned around and went out for ice cream, and Mindy asked if I needed to see a doctor, but I told her that Bucky had taken me to the tower for medical care and that it hadn't really been necessary. It was true enough, I hadn't needed to go to the tower, I was just vain about the bruises. She nodded and said that she was here if I needed to talk. "You're such a nice kid, I don't know why this had to happen to you," she said, hugging me. It felt good to talk to another female about it. When Sam got back, we ate ice cream and watched a hockey game on TV, then I went to bed early. I had school the next day.

It felt good to be back to normal, the organized sanity of classes. I thought that art appreciation should be pretty interesting, and we had a couple of assignments at some of the art museums in town. Bonus to living in one of the world's great cities: lots of museums. It wasn't structured just as a history of paintings and sculpture; we would also have units on applied arts and archaeological treasures. After school I hustled to work; there was a biting wind that cut right through my coat. I was planning on waiting until the end of the season sales and getting a warmer one, but I might want to rethink that. I was debating with myself when I went into the lab. Dr Renaud wasn't there, he must be somewhere else in the building, but Mr Wayne was. I put my things down at my desk and turned, planning to get myself some nice hot coffee, and smacked right into him.

After apologizing, I asked how Damian was.

"He's staying home for a few days, but he's going to be fine," his dad said gravely. "But I think that you should keep your distance from him." I was shocked and tried not to gape. "You've been seriously hurt twice because you were around him. The Joker is nobody you want to meet, Alex. You were lucky." He was silent a moment. "I've had a series of Robins. The Joker killed one of them. Lured him in using his desire to find his birth mother, whom the Joker had corrupted, beat him almost to death with a crowbar. Then blew up the warehouse with the boy and his mother." He drew a ragged breath. "I couldn't save either one of them. Believe me when I tell you that the Joker wouldn't lose a moment of sleep for doing anything, up to and including killing you."

"With respect, Mr Wayne, I'm now on the Joker's radar, hanging out with Damian or not. He's not going to forgive me anytime soon."

A moment of silence. "This was Damian's idea, to protect you. But I agree. Keep your distance, Alex." He turned and left the lab.

Numbly, I went to get my coffee. I felt like I'd lost something important. Again.

The rejection from Mr Wayne and Damian felt different from Mr Stark's rejection. It was personal in a different way. It made me feel helpless in a way that even the Joker hadn't been able to achieve. I'd lost the feeling of allies. The most I could hope for is for the Joker to be caught and sent to prison for life. Because yeah, the Joker was batshit crazy, but he knew right from wrong. He just reveled in the wrong. He didn't belong in Arkham. They never were able to hold him. It made me feel weak, like I couldn't hold my own. But I could. I'd proven that.

Dr Reynaud came in then, a welcome distraction from the self-pitying path I was starting down. He'd had an idea for a children's book on climate change; it would be a challenge for him because you can't stuff a kid's book with charts and graphs and technical language. He'd received the happy news on New Years that he was going to be a grandpa for the first time.

"I married late, we delayed a little having our kids," he said pensively. "I worry about the world I'm leaving to them. What is my legacy? Papers and speeches for others in the business. How can I help to make an impact in the broader public? It's a whole different audience." We talked a little about the scope of the thing. I suggested centering it around ice core evidence, because that way you could put the story on either pole and have sympathetic penguins or polar bears, depending on which pole you chose. Kids love arctic animals. We talked some more about that and then he went back to work and I pulled up the next article for proofreading.

After work, I headed toward the embassy. I hadn't been working out much and felt the rust. When I got there, Sif was waiting for me, and as we warmed up, she cautioned me that her husband's three best friends were here for a visit of unknown duration. "We used to fight side by side," she said grimly, "but when Thor and I married and Magni was born, it is as if that never occurred. They think of me only as a wife now."

"Pigs," I muttered, then had to explain why I was insulting perfectly nice barnyard animals. We got to work, though, and had just settled into our lesson when Thor, his three friends, and my uncle came down. Bucky was expressionless, but I seemed to remember that none of the Midgardian Avengers liked these three. The big fat one roared with laughter to see Sif and me working, chastising her for abandoning her duties as a mother.

"And look at your teacher!" he said, pointing. Apparently his mama never told him it was rude to point. "A tiny little thing! She is built for the pleasures of the bed, not the rigors of battle!"

All of a sudden, I snapped. This goon from another world had a lot of nerve calling me a fuck bunny.

"That's my niece you're talking about, Volstagg," my uncle said testily. Thor looked apprehensive.

I put on a bright smile and offered to spar with him. He hemmed and hawed, but I slipped in a small insult about him being afraid to fight a girl, and he found his balls. Figuratively, of course, it's not like they Velcro'ed on and he'd misplaced them somewhere. We agreed pleasantly to bout until someone quit.

"Be sure to speak loudly, so that all might hear," was his parting shot. I bared my teeth at him and the fight began. I say 'fight,' but it only lasted a couple minutes, and that was because I was feeling generous. It was easy to trip him and put his arm in a position that a small movement would dislocate it. Because he pissed me off, I added the emphasis of my boot on his neck.

"Stop!" he groaned. I smiled sweetly.

"Please speak louder, so that all might hear," I said briskly, and twisted his arm slightly for a little emphasis.

"STOP!" he shouted, his voice only slightly muffled by his position on the floor. Reluctantly, I released his arm and stepped off his neck.

As he got to his feet, I stepped back. I didn't quite see it, but Volstagg lunged for me and I tripped, smacking my head on the floor. That unleashed something in me and I literally saw red. I got back to my feet and I let myself be carried along on the force of my rage. For the first time, I didn't think about holding back. I started with my favorite strike, heel of my hand to nose, and from there it went downhill. For Volstagg.

He was down and actually crying when my uncle's patient voice finally got through and called me off. I sneered at the man on the floor. "So much for honor, asshole," I snarled. "You couldn't even lose a practice match with any kind of class or dignity."

Thor was yelling at my uncle about why he hadn't stopped me, and Bucky said that it would have been dangerous to try, and besides, Volstagg had deserved it.

I glared at Fandral and Hogun. "Anybody else want to go?" I snapped. Fandral looked afraid and Hogun inscrutable; neither took me up on my offer. Sif handed me a towel that was slightly dampened, and I wiped Volstagg's blood off my hands. She gave me a slight smile.

"I think perhaps today's lesson is over," she said mildly, and I picked up my bag. She walked up to the door with me, and Bucky joined us. As usual, he held the car door for me.

He waited until we were in traffic before asking me what happened. There wasn't any judgment in his tone. "A lot's happened in the past couple of days. When Volstagg insulted me, I wanted to give him a message. I know you said not to play with my food, but I though I'd let him retain a little pride. Then he attacked after the bout was supposed to be over, and that was it."

"I don't recall saying you shouldn't play with your food, like you were a big cat or something," Bucky said mildly. "But it's true that toying with your enemy provides them with opportunity. You didn't give him enough time to actually do much. If you insist on giving people a chance during a bout, you need to string them along longer so that they feel like they had their chances. Otherwise, don't mess around. Put them down. You might also want to consider the implications of beating up the buddy of an ambassador." I nodded. I hadn't thought of that at all. After a moment, he asked what else was bothering me.

"The Joker's still out there and he scares me. Today at work Mr Wayne told me to keep my distance."

Bucky frowned. "Did he say why?"

"Because the Joker's dangerous. He and Damian think that it will help keep me safer."

"But you don't agree."

"Sort of. No." I sighed. "I agree that the Joker is very dangerous. But I think I hurt his pride, his standing in the eyes of his goons. He's not going to forget that."

"How much does the Joker know about you, do you think?"

I considered this, what he'd said to me. "He knows I'm not from money." I shook my head. "I don't know if he knows my name. I left my purse at the scene, Aslyn got it for me. I can't remember if Damian said it in front of him."

"Well, sweetie, if all he's got is what you look like and that you're not wealthy, he doesn't actually have much on you. So I'm going to agree with the Waynes; you're better off at a distance." I thought he was wrong. He hadn't seen the Joker's face when I'd put him down. He was really dangerous and I'd given him a really good reason to hate me. If he abused Harley as I thought he did, from the bruises on her face, he wasn't a man to put up with being challenged by any woman. My mind refused to contemplate what sex with the Joker would be like, especially if he was enraged. But how do you make a man see that? Their minds were made up.

I tried once more, though. "You weren't there, though. He lost face, and he expects women to be subservient. He's not going to forget about me."

"Sweetie, he's on the run. He's got a lot of other things to worry about," he said reassuringly.

I let it drop and thanked him for the ride when we got home. I dragged inside; neither Mindy nor Sam were home yet and that was fine by me. I dropped my stuff in the bedroom and showered; I hadn't worked up much of a sweat, but I wanted to be clean, even if I couldn't wash the shame off. The other thing that was really bothering me was the feeling of dismissal I'd gotten from Mr Wayne. Just like when Mr Stark had demoted me.

"Place not your faith in princes, nor in the son of man...in whom there is no help," I whispered. When I'd first read the Bible, I thought that this passage was too pessimistic. People need to have faith in others. But now I felt like I saw the truth of it. It was a warning not to trust too much. I'd made the mistake--twice now--in trusting respectable men, hoping to impress them with my abilities. For what? Was it a daddy thing? No, my dad was awesome, he was my biggest cheerleader. I could trust him with anything and he thought I could do anything I wanted if I just worked hard enough. I think I'd wanted to impress Mr Stark because he was successful and talented. I'd wanted to be recognized as having some special quality of my own. I'd thought that hard work would let me rise, find mentors, work collaboratively. But it hadn't. Well, for a brief time, it had. At least Mr Wayne hadn't fired me. He'd just thrown me to the dogs. I remembered abruptly that I'd never gotten Damian's phone number. He might not want to hang out anymore, but I thought that if I were having an emergency he'd help--but not if I couldn't reach him. I wondered if it was something about me, to make people turn away. Emma had too, it wasn't just a guy thing. I was depressed and demoralized when I got out of the shower.

But as I unenthusiastically started my homework--we didn't have a lot yet, but it never hurts to work ahead--my mind picked out an unexplored pathway from my earlier thoughts. No, the men were dismissive, but I knew women who weren't. I paused and thought this through. First up was Natasha. In her lifetime, she probably had seen it all. At least she'd have some tips about how to deal with the mental and emotional fallout from the encounter with the Joker. I rummaged around my desk until I found the guide we'd gotten at the women power lunch; it had the membership listing of the organization and I was betting I could find some engineers in that membership that I could call for informational interviews. Maybe I could find a career mentor there.

As far as my personal safety was concerned...that would take some thought. But I wanted to be an engineer. I could research personal protective devices and modify them for myself. If I wanted to carry around gizmos, I needed to make sure the risk of them being used against me was minimal. I got on the computer and searched. There was one of the new makers' workshops up by Harlem. For a subscription fee, you could get access to the tools and machines in the shop to work on your projects. I decided to put off the coat purchase until the sales in favor of the workshop if I needed to fabricate something. I texted Natasha, in case she was busy, and got a quick response. She'd be out of town for a bit, but we agreed to an early morning meeting over breakfast on Friday.

I plowed through my homework and set to work on the guide. I found several engineers, who mostly worked for startups in the area. Since I didn't really know what kind of engineering I wanted to do, I selected a sample who represented all the different kinds on offer and sent emails that introduced myself, mentioned the luncheon and my acceptance to MIT, and respectfully asked for an informational interview.

Then I Googled how to recover from sexual assault. The first page I looked at said to rely on my loved ones for support. I snorted. The only loved one who I know knew about it was my uncle, and I suspected that he wasn't dealing with it too well. If I told my parents, they'd bring me back home, regardless of whether I wanted to go. My friends? Sam and Mindy? Yeah, no. I liked that they didn't treat me different than they did before. There were a lot of people who I didn't want to ever talk about this with, and a distressingly large number of men who did know what I didn't want others to know. Then I had a thought, and checked my insurance. It had been cheaper for my parents to pay for my medical insurance through Wayne Enterprises, and they had a benefit for up to ten free therapy sessions over the phone. It wasn't ideal, maybe, but I could just be a name on a file, faceless. I located the number of the line and was surprised to see that it was still open; it was based in California so night hours were extended. I gave them a call.


	32. Therapy

When I woke up the next morning, I felt a little better for having spoken to a mental health professional. I'd really limited the details, saying only that I'd been abducted and he'd penetrated me with his fingers, I'd fought back and although I escaped, I was worried, based on what he'd said, that he'd come after me. I asked if it was reasonable to be worried.

"Unfortunately, yes," the counselor had said. " In roughly a third of rapes, resistance makes the assault more violent. If this man has not been caught, you should be cautious; he might stalk you. At the same time, don't let it take over your life. You need routine, not to feel more cut off from your regular life," she had warned. "If you find yourself punishing yourself for it in some way, like cutting, drug use, casual sex, get help immediately. Go to a school counselor or someone you trust."

"I don't really trust anybody," I said softly. "It happened New Years Eve, there wasn't a policewoman readily available to talk to and I just wanted to get it over with. Other people overheard the interview, people I would have preferred not know. My uncle was one of them, and he's downplaying my worries. I don't know what to do."

"This is very unfortunate," she said gently. "It's hard."

"I know that it wasn't my fault. I really do," I said. "And it could have been so much worse. He threatened me with a gang bang."

I don't know that she was really ready for me. But she went over the stages of Rape Trauma Syndrome, the acute phase which is the immediate aftermath, apparent stabilization, and the final phase, which is a return of the initial distress, and she cautioned me that recovery wasn't linear or on a time table, and she urged me to get in touch with a rape crisis center since they have specialized counseling. She might not have meant it that way, but it felt like she was just passing me off to somebody else. "And don't get hung up on the terminology. Legally, the definition of rape can vary from jurisdiction to jurisdiction, and while penetration by a penis is the only criteria for rape in some places, penetration by anything is considered rape in others. Choose the definition that works for you in your recovery process."

After I'd gotten off the phone, I looked up rape crisis centers in the city. There were more than I'd thought, and I marked a couple for further investigation.

Over the next few days I contacted New York-Presbyterian Hospital and was placed in their Domestic and Other Violence Emergencies program. It was guaranteed confidential and it was free, which was a load off my mind. This being New York, I felt that they'd understand about the Joker, and they did, categorizing him as a stalker. They also thought I could still be at risk, pointing out that I didn't know what happened with my date ( I called him John rather than Damian; I didn't trust confidentiality that much) when he was being tortured. I hadn't thought about that, and it made my anxiety ratchet up. Even if he'd just said my first name, it wasn't a really common name. On my second visit, they started me on Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing therapy, which did seem to help a lot.

I researched some personal protective devices but decided against anything that could be used against me, like pepper spray. So what I came up with was no protective devices, preferring to rely on my skills. I researched in a different direction and found a rugged, waterproof locator device the size of a quarter. I superglued it to the bottom of my sports watch because I only took that off in the shower. It was only three millimeters thick, so it didn't make the watch stand up much on my wrist. The tracker was used with a cell phone app. So I put my cell phone code with a message to activate the tracker if I went missing on notes in my bedside table, in the little notebook I used to take notes and carried in my messenger bag, and in my wallet. I'd done some research and found a device invented by a South African doctor, but it had never gone to market. It was, essentially, a female condom with four little strips of barbs attached inside. The drawback was that the woman had to be penetrated for it to work, but the barbs dug into the penis when the man tried to withdraw and could only be removed by a doctor. I seriously considered it, but it never went into production. Well, my skills would have to be enough.

I think that Aslyn knew more had happened than I told her because she never pressed for a fuller account of what happened, just told me that if I ever wanted to talk about it she'd be there.

I was doing my best to put things behind me with therapy, I resumed training and teaching Sif, and I tried not to be hurt when I bumped into Damian in the lobby and his eyes passed over me like I wasn't there. Tried, and failed. More and more I was looking forward to going to college. It would be a fresh start. There was a weekend in April when those who had been accepted were invited to campus to look around, get to know MIT. It seemed like an activity designed to get the admitted students to accept MIT over other schools and I hadn't really planned on going since I'd already made up my mind to attend, but I changed my mind and registered for the event. I needed bright spots in my life.

And I found another. I heard some boys in the cafeteria talking about a Spartan race to be held in New Jersey the first week in March. One was a kid I knew from French club. I remembered how powerful I felt after finishing and approached them.

"You're doing the Spartan race?" I asked.

"Yeah," one of the boys said. "But we've got our team. We don't want a girl."

I smiled serenely. "Oh, I'm not looking to join a team. I did that last year. I'm just looking for a ride to the race. I'll help pay for gas and parking."

Two of the boys were not impressed, but the third--who turned out to be the driver--was, and I made arrangements with him. Then I spent the rest of lunch registering. After school, I tracked down my coach from last year's Lifetime Sports class and asked if I could do a little training in the gym before school; I wanted to do pull-ups and climb the rope, mostly, telling him that I was running Spartan again. He encouraged me and said he'd open the gym for me. This semester we had bhangra club three times a week and I could get my workouts in before that. We got to talking about college--MIT requires a swim test and eight units of PE classes. I said I thought I might take a swim class even though I could test out so that I could learn to butterfly, and there were so many options for PE that looked like fun.

"Ice hockey," I said enthusiastically, and he grinned. "I definitely want to do archery. And there is ballroom dancing, swing, salsa, Irish dancing that I could choose from. Maybe rifle shooting. Maybe fencing. I thought either tennis or golf. What do you think?" We chatted for a little--he advised me to try both tennis and golf since I had a lot of units--and I felt bright and happy for the first time this year. I wouldn't be outrunning my problems by going to college, but it was a reminder that good things awaited me.

The first weekend in February, I went to a party with my friends--the first time I'd been out socially since New Years--and met a really cute guy, Hector Ramirez. And not only was he hot, he was both smart and nice. As usual, when talking with a high school senior, we got to talking about where we wanted to go to college, and he was pretty confident that he was going to get a soccer scholarship to Duke, based on his talks with their coach and his coach. He wanted a career in the sport, but if he couldn't, he wanted to go into sports broadcasting. He laughed a little self-consciously when he heard I was going to MIT for engineering.

"Now I feel pretty shallow," he said.

"Why?" I asked. "Everybody needs both past times and passions. I like to watch World Cup soccer. The American women's team is outstanding!" I winked. He laughed and I asked for his opinion of why the men's team wasn't very good. He had interesting thoughts, and at the end of the conversation I had a date. Which extended to others, and soon we were seeing each other exclusively. We called each other boyfriend and girlfriend but as with Roger, neither of us wanted a long-distance relationship in college, so the expectation for both of us was that we'd break up at the end of summer. As we got closer, I told him that I'd been assaulted, so he'd understand why I wanted to go slowly. Not details, and he didn't ask for them, and he never failed to be considerate and avoided making me feel pushed. I was doing well with my therapy and didn't want to jeopardize my progress.

Before I knew it, it was time for Spartan, and I woke up with an amazing feeling that I could conquer anything. I grabbed my bag with everything I'd need, and made it to the meeting point in plenty of time. The boys were starting to feel nervous and I started to doubt how well-prepared they were. I told them I'd see them at the finish line and they started to get irritated that I was 'cocky' as one of them put it. I shrugged. "Hey, I've already run this race once and finished with a solid time." When we got there and registered and were getting ready to go, I mentally shook my head when I saw they weren't even bothering to stretch. I hoped they'd practiced a lot of burpees, because they'd be doing them often. Then there was the motivational speech, and we were off. Well, the elite racers were; those of us in the back had to wait longer. I grinned when I saw that the first obstacle was the barbed wire crawl, and flung myself into the mud with enthusiasm.

This time, not having a team, I used the kickers on the walls. I failed the spear toss this time; I didn't throw it hard enough and while it stayed in the target, the butt of the spear touched the ground. In resignation I did my burpees. There weren't enough volunteers and the penalties were on the honor system. I saw several people ignore the rule, which was irksome. But I didn't have energy to waste on indignation. I had my race to run. I zipped past the boys I'd ridden in with on the stone carry. By then end of it, exhausted but driven, I leaped over the fire hurdle and across the finish line. I'd managed to get a slightly better time on my own even with two additional obstacles. I treated myself to a new Spartan shirt and warm up pants and waited patiently for the boys to show up. They were absolutely wiped out and grumpy to see me relaxed and refreshed. It was a silent ride back to the city even though we'd all gotten our participation medals.

Monday at school I tracked down Coach to let him know how I'd done. He was really pleased I'd done so well. "Have you ever considered sports science?" he asked.

"No," I said cautiously.

"It's something to consider. You might want to look into it, if not for undergrad then as a possible field of study for grad school if you want to go." We talked about it for a little, and I had to admit it sounded interesting. More and more I was glad that I didn't have to declare a major as an MIT freshman.

Colleges started sending out acceptances in mid-March, and I was pretty relaxed. My friends were wound really tight and I was as supportive as I could be. Hector got a full ride to Duke, and Karen was offered dance scholarships both to the Ailey School and University of California-Irvine. Rill and Aslyn were both accepted at several schools, and Rill had decided to go to UCLA. Aslyn was torn between Columbia and Harvard, so she arranged a campus visit the same weekend I was going up to MIT and we rode the train together.

Campus preview weekend was mindblowing. I stayed in a residence hall and went to classes and labs, met students and faculty, and attended events. I could not wait for August to get here already. My financial aid packet had come, and in addition to my two big scholarships, I had been awarded four smaller ones, and all my costs were covered without even a Pell grant or help from the university. I was really proud of that, and my parents were thrilled. There was even some money that would be left over after I paid all the bills. Aslyn was also really excited by what she'd seen at Harvard and said that she'd turned in her acceptance letter there. That disclosure excited some squealing and hugging; we wouldn't be at the same university, but we'd be in the same city and resolved to meet periodically. There were new friends to look forward to, but there's nothing like an old friend.

When I got home, there was a message from the detective who had interviewed me on New Years that Harley Quinn had been arrested, along with several of the Joker's goons. Oddly, I didn't feel more secure with this disclosure. Harley had proven that she wasn't the Joker's creature, not entirely, she'd been a limited ally for me. And now she was going to be locked up. There wasn't going to be a trial for her, she'd been taken straight to Arkham. The thugs were going to be locked up, though. I was kind of relieved that she wasn't going to be tried. I'd decided that if she was caught in connection with the Joker's New Years... activity, that I'd contact her lawyer and offer to testify for her. I felt that I owed her something for helping me out with Damian, but I was still resentful that she'd left me alone with the Joker. But fortunately, she'd been picked up for escaping earlier, not for New Years, so I didn't have to go through with it.

Hector asked me to prom at his high school, so we were going to both of them, his and mine. His school had a lot fewer restrictions on the dresses, so when I went shopping with the girls, I loosened up and got a more daring dress. Mom and Dad had been so happy that my college cost were covered that they sent enough money for me to get a different dress for both proms. I was floored; I'd planned on wearing the one from the year before to one of them. I got a dress with a dark, beautiful cobalt skirt and a stretch black lace bodice and was lined only in the front. The back was sexier without the bulk of the lining and had been cut to feature the pretty lace motif; the skirt was straight. Rill said Hector's high school made a big deal out of prom, so my first dress, while I loved it, was less expensive and I had a more exciting dress for his dance. It was black, a mermaid style that clung to my curves that had a plain front except for the jeweled collar that lay beneath the notch of my collarbones. The back, though.... the collar turned into a racerback that went down my spine past my shoulderblades and went off to the sides. There were curved pieces that connected the sides to the top and the top of the skirt around to the sides. The straps had a geometric design and the racerback part had a floral element. It was both beautiful and sexy. After we'd all found dresses--it was a lot easier this year for some reason--we had to go shoe shopping. This time I got a pair of strappy silver sandals that, although they had a modest half-inch platform, provided only a total of three inches of extra height and were both more comfortable and easier to move in.

Time for the dances came up fast. Our prom was first, so Aslyn and I double-dated. Her date and mine got along well so it was a fun evening. We didn't get a hotel room but I consented to get one for Hector's prom the next week. We met a group of his friends at the restaurant; I'd met some of them at the party where I'd met Hector, including a vivacious blonde girl named Nora. She was pretty and nice and brought Damian as her date. Aside from the brief introductions to the group, I ignored him, subtly maneuvering Hector so that we were at the other end of the table. Alfred was driving a damned limo that we were all supposed to take. My complaint wasn't with him, he'd always been wonderful to me, so I winked at him as I walked past him holding the door to the stretch limousine. We had a good distance between us and Damian and Nora in the vehicle, and once we got to the dance, the group broke up quite a bit. I had a great time; Hector is a fantastic dancer. We hung around a little after the court was announced (Nora was a princess) and went upstairs.

When we left, a few hours later, Hector tucked me into a cab, paying for my fare (although I protested), since we lived in opposite directions. I wished he'd come with me, though; the cab driver gave me the creeps although he was polite enough. But I got home safely, and later the girls met so we could all hear about each others' proms. Only Rill hadn't gone to two, but she was fine with that. Her date had been such a pain, all hands and expectations, that she was relieved that she didn't have to do another dance.

That Monday I went to see Ms Stewart in the careers counseling office again; my last informational interview had been with a biochemical engineer and that had been really interesting. I was starting to wonder if I could study mutations. Ms Stewart was reading an email and frowning. Then she clicked it shut and turned to me. "Some area high schools have been hacked," she said. "Ours was this weekend, but don't worry, it doesn't look like general student information was touched. They've found that grades have been altered." She shook her head. "Some students will go to great lengths to boost their GPAs. Now, how did your interviews turn out?" We discussed what I found out and what my interests were, and then it was time to get to work.

The next couple of weeks flew by, and it was with a certain amount of surprise that I realized that I had written my last test of high school. My parents and J came down for graduation, and I had a really nice crowd of people cheering for me when I received my diploma--Sam and Mindy were there as well as Emma and Bucky. Kinda surprised to see Emma, but I did appreciate her showing up. She and Bucky hosted a celebration at Avenger tower for me after the ceremony. It was a little embarrassing, but Natasha came too, along with Hawkeye and Kate and Mr Stark and Thor, Loki, and Sif. The Asgardians gave me a pendant with a pretty green stone; Loki said that it would enhance my concentration. So I think there was some magic woo woo going on, but being able to concentrate didn't seem like cheating. Kate and Hawkeye gave me an invitation to take more archery classes with them over the summer; Uncle Bucky had mentioned that I wanted to take archery for my PE requirement. Natasha surprised me with my own boxing gloves to take to college. I'd planned on finding a gym where I could use the heavy bag and maybe spar. I was really going to miss Uncle Bucky's lessons. Bucky himself handed me a check for five thousand dollars; he said it was mad money for my college career. Emma gave me a pair of sapphire and diamond earrings that she'd made herself, and I was genuinely touched. Mr Stark gave me a fountain pen and a promise to purchase my Brass Rat ring when I got to be a junior. Mom and Dad gave me diamond solitaire earrings and J gave me an MIT t shirt. I realized with surprise that I hadn't gotten one for myself yet. It was a great party. That night I took J and went to Aslyn's, where her parents were hosting a barbeque for her. J was a big hit among the girls. I just relaxed and took it easy.

Mom, Dad, and J went back Sunday afternoon, and I started summer hours at work. Dr Reynaud gave me a card for graduation and a large flat package. It turned out to be an advance copy of his kid's book on climate change, and my jaw dropped to see my name under his.

"You helped with the dialog and the premise of the book," he said, smiling. I immediately took a picture of the cover and texted it to my friends and family. It was an amazing thing to do.

Sam and Mindy had offered to have me stay with them in the city until it was time to leave for college, and I'd taken them up on the offer eagerly. I was going to spend the last couple weeks at home; Mom and Dad wanted to take me up for college and I wanted some time with my family before plunging into the unknown. A couple weeks into my summer break, they took ten days and took a well-deserved vacation to visit their son. It was kind of nice to have the privacy.

I woke up abruptly one night, not sure what was different. Then I felt a pain in my neck, over the right carotid. I brushed at my neck and contacted metal. I drew my breath, recognizing a hypodermic needle, and a hand came down over my mouth. My nerves started to feel deader, and I panicked when I found it was more difficult to move. Soon I couldn't move at all. I couldn't scream, either.

"Hello, pretty," a familiar voice whispered, and the Joker turned on my bedside light.


	33. Grievous

This chapter may be disturbing for those sensitive to sexual assault.

***

His unhinged grin appeared and he stroked my throat with his long fingers. My skin tried to crawl, but nothing was moving. Including, I realized, my eyes.

"You'll want to keep calm, pretty," the Joker said as he stood and walked over to my desk. "If you get too worked up, you might stop breathing. It's a wrinkle that Ivy hasn't been able to work out yet." He messed around a little; I couldn't really see what he was doing.

He returned and looked at me. "I need you to be able to look at me," he said. "I need the terror, the emotion, pretty. It's not nearly as fun without the response." He casually poked around in his pocket and withdrew another capped syringe, which he held in front of my eyes. With a flourish, he uncapped it and I felt two injections under each eye. In a couple minutes, I was able to blink and move my eyes. It also apparently enabled my tear ducts again. "That's much better, pretty."

He pulled me so that I was sitting up (with his help--I was limp rather than rigid as I'd thought) and I could see that he had a battered old-fashioned camcorder on the desk. He got up, turned it on, and sat beside me on the bed. "Revenge is sweet, isn't it?" he said, a hard tone in his voice. "I reach out to a colleague in crime and I get a drug that induces paralysis. Based on curare, originally. I do a little research, or hire it out, actually, and I find out who the little bitch is who got away from me and took away my prize as well. It was baby Wayne who gave me the first clue--he said "Alex" while I was administering the fists of justice, so the plan began to come together. I had an associate hack local high schools until he found your school photo and address. It was just luck that the couple you live with went away. I'd have had to deal with them otherwise.

"So as I've been saying, I've been planning this for awhile. And while originally I planned to have some fun here and kill you, my ideas have...evolved. There are so many possibilities for revenge. All sorts of scenarios to choose from. But I'm going to take you away from all this. Expand your horizons." He nuzzled my hair and his hand closed hard on my breast. I'd have screamed if I could. "So I'm going to break you, in mind, and in body, and in spirit, and then perhaps the police will be fishing you out of the river." He sighed happily. "I have quite the pharmacopeia. The Scarecrow mixed me up a little somethin'-somethin' that induces terror. It can make you psychotic with repeated exposure. And I have other little cocktails, too. I can hardly wait." He got up and turned off the camcorder, but he left it, which I didn't expect. "When you don't show up at work, you'll be missed. Nobody will be able to reach you. They'll come here, eventually. And find this. They'll have lost so much valuable time." He leaned down and nipped my earlobe. Hard. And he picked me up, pulled me over his shoulder, and carried me out. There was nobody on the street. He took me right out to his car, double parked right in front of the door, and dumped me in the back. We drove for quite a while, but it was still dark when he stopped the car and got out, carrying me the same way to a dilapidated-looking house. "Honey, we're home!" he caroled, kicking the door shut behind us.

It was dark inside, and my heart dropped as he went down stairs to a cellar. He flicked a switch in passing and light flooded the large concrete room. Then I was dumped on a flat firm surface. He pulled me to the center of it. "Yes, this is a bed," he said genially. "And we'll be making good use of it." He got up and left my field of vision. I couldn't see what he was doing, just heard him humming and arranging things. All I could see was the ceiling, which seemed strangely saggy. I hoped it didn't cave in and bury me. Or maybe I should.

"Almost ready, pretty!" he sang, and then I blinked as the ceiling started to ripple. I realized then that it was a sheet, which covered a huge mirror. I could see myself, full length. The Joker appeared and laid down beside me so we were both looking up. "Wouldn't want you to miss anything good, pretty." He reached out, grabbed my hair, and rolled my head to the right and left. There were cameras on tripods. "I'm going to be filming all of this, pretty. For my personal fun, also to show others, if they earn the privilege. See, my plans for you evolved. At first I just wanted to kill you. Horribly. But then I still wanted to rape you, and then I wanted to kill you. And then Harley got herself caught, and, well, a man has needs. And that was when I hit on my new plan. Harley has been great, but not only is she showing her years, she's got a distressing tendency to walk out on me now and then. I let her come back, but I'm shopping for a more devoted companion these days." He rolled away energetically to retrieve something, then he stood on the bed over me, a wicked pair of shears in his hand. He bent over, opened the shears, and slowly cut up the arm of my sleeping t shirt, across my chest to the other side, and down that arm. Then he cut down the neck to the hem, catching the drawstring waist of the shorts I wore and cutting down each leg. Then, slowly, carefully, he peeled each section off my skin until I lay on the ruin of my clothes, naked. The Joker looked me over avidly. I couldn't help it, I panicked. My diaphragm froze, and the Joker's expression turned from lust to annoyance. He jumped off the bed and I heard a rattle as he pulled a cart over to the side of the bed.

"Don't worry, pretty, I saw how to do this on You Tube," he said absently as he tipped my head back and began working a tube down my throat. I couldn't even gag. Then he flicked the switch and the ventilator began to pump air, inflating my lungs, then allowing the air to evacuate. I wanted to pant for air, but I was limited to only what the ventilator doled out. I was freaking out, but eventually I got enough air and calmed down some.

"Good, good, pretty," the Joker approved, then crawled onto the bed, crawling over me, then sitting on my thighs. He watched me, laughing as tears welled in my eyes. "I'd love to hear you scream, but counteracting the paralyzing agent would enable you to move your head, and I can't have that. But that's ok. Later on, there will be time to listen to your screams, your moans, your pleas, your curses. It will be delicious. But just now I think it's more important to use you. Thoroughly. Get your head pointed in the right direction so that you understand that you belong to me. If you're a good girl, I won't have to discipline you much. But if you persist in trying to do your own thing, you will be punished. I might be the one punishing you, or I might subcontract the job. You'd like that even less. I have some colleagues who aren't quite right in the head." His distinctive jackal laugh escaped, ending on a sinister growl.

He put his hand on my throat, stroking the blood vessels firmly, then pressed down between my breasts, flicking aside the pendent. He held up a brutish-looking piece of thick black leather with a buckle and D ring on one end. I was shocked when he wrapped it around my neck, fastening it firmly and stroking it. "This is your collar. I have a leash for it around here somewhere, but we won't need that right now." He squeezed my breasts, flicking the nipples with his thumbs. "But I'm going to pierce your body too. You'll find it hard not to come along if I'm pulling on the ring through your nipple. And we'll see where else you could use some hardware. And maybe some tattoos, something to really make it clear you're my property." His rough hands released me, but he stroked down my torso, rubbing my skin.

He rearranged himself so that he was kneeling between my legs. His fingers stroked the strip of hair I'd left between my legs. "I think that the landing strip is so boring. You'll grow this out, maybe I'll have it shaved it into a J." He laughed, high and crazy. "Maybe dye it purple." Then his fingers slipped between my legs, spreading me open to be examined. The tears flowed out of my eyes and my heart beat faster. The ventilator continued its slow inflation/deflation. His fingers explored me in silence for a few moments, then he suddenly, unexpectedly, thrust two fingers deep inside. "It's too bad that I'm not the one to pop your cherry," he said, lingering explosively on the 'pop'. "But in a way it's for the best. You know what a man expects from you. Well, what your boys expected. Men are different." He got to his feet, staring down at me, and took off his coat, folding it fussily and bending over to put it under my head, so that I could look down my body. He slowly unbuttoned his shirt, wrenching his tie loose and tossing it to the side, then whisking the belt through the pants loop. If I could have, I would have tensed, remembering him striking me with it before. He smirked, apparently remembering it too. "Not today, pretty. This is just the beginning. And you're behaving so well." He undid the waistband button and slowly unzipped his pants. He pushed everything down and his penis was exposed. Like the rest of the skin I'd had the misfortune to see, it was that sickly, grayish white and seemed... lumpy. The thought of...that...almost made me pass out as my panic required more oxygen than I could get. My mind gibbered. He laughed, enjoying my terror, closing his fist around himself and pumping. He seemed ten feet tall like that, looming over me and reflected in the mirror. Then he knelt down, tucking my hands and forearms behind my back, arching my back. He pressed his fingers into my abdomen, stroking, then moved up to my breasts, kneading them roughly. His breathing got harsher and faster and he lay on my body, sucking my skin, nipping, twisting the other nipple. The nipping got harder and his breathing tuned into panting. Then he stopped dead and looked up at me, his eyes hot and totally nuts. I started praying.

"The injection I gave you is good for about three hours," he said. "I can have a lot of fun with you in the time we have left, pretty. I believe in being thorough. But don't worry, I have more if we need it. Now, I'm going to forgo the oral until you're in more of a condition to be cooperative and willing to work, but you still have two holes. And in the accident that created this" he gestured toward his body "Also damaged my nerve endings a little, so it takes a long time for me to come. A very long time." It was the most insane smile I'd ever seen. At that, I did pass out briefly, not nearly long enough. "Now stop," he chided me when I came around. He waved a bottle in my vision briefly. "If you're a good girl, I'll even use lube."

Have you ever been terrified and not been able to breathe enough? It's a separate terror in itself. The ventilator continued its implacable rhythm. My mind scrambled like a gerbil trying to climb the glass wall of its cage. His hands first gripped my hips, then pressed my thighs far apart. He spent time touching my legs and I frantically focused on trying to test my muscles. Then I heard the pop of a bottle top opening, then a squirting noise and a thick sound as he rubbed his hands together. "It's a gel lube," he confided. "Stays where I put it. Once I get your attitude adjusted, what fun we'll have! The Clown Prince does need a consort, after all. Because you need an attitude adjustment, this first time you can just lie there, but I'll be expecting much more enthusiasm later. Participation; you please me with your efforts and I won't give you to my henchmen or one of the brothels." He slathered a generous handful between my legs, then spent time rubbing it around and inside me. Another cold glop landed behind, and he worked that in too. I was spared for a moment when his cell phone started bleating out "Let's Go Crazy." He snarled and turned away, moving to the edge of the bed and standing. He barked into the phone, listened, then looked at me and walked up the stairs. I would have sobbed in relief at the reprieve if I'd been able.

Finally, miraculously, my hand spasmed. I redoubled my efforts and as footsteps skipped down the stairs, my other hand moved. Thank God they were behind my back. The nerves burned, as impulses started to fire again, and I had hope. Finally. I had to control myself, though. If I didn't have good enough control over my muscles when I acted, it would be all over. The Joker wouldn't give me a second chance. He strolled toward the bed, pumping himself erect again, then stopped and frowned at me. "I shouldn't have left you alone," he said, a snarl on the edge of his voice. "But don't worry, pretty, you'll be crying again soon." The ventilator's cruel slow rhythm continued and he slowly moved between my legs again, then slid up my body so we were eye to eye, his penis trapped between us. He stared me down until the tears started again, then smiled viciously in satisfaction. He started to lick his way down.

You can get through this, I coached myself. Because you are gearing up for an ass kicking of mythic proportions. Forget epic. This will make the tale of Jason and the golden fleece sound like a stroll down to Saks. You will get your revenge. You are a lot stronger than he knows or is expecting. You've been trained by a former killer. You can so do this. You just can't betray yourself until you you can make a crucial first strike. I was at a huge disadvantage in my current position. I needed to get my arms free fast, then strike with my hands, get him off my body, then beat the ever-lovin' shit out of him. I kept as focused on that as I could, but I also needed to be terrified enough of him so that he didn't suspect that the drug was wearing off and hit me with another dose.

Oddly, the terror was the easy part.

He positioned himself; I could feel the nudge of his penis against me and started crying in earnest. "Don't be that way, pretty," he said, actually sounding hurt. He smoothed back my hair from my face. "It'll only hurt for awhile," he promised, then started pressing. He frowned, sat up, and pulled my arms out from behind my back and arranged them out from my sides. He looked up in the mirror to see the effect of me, spreadeagled, then bent my knees and pushed them open to the sides. He nodded, licking his lips, and made a second attempt. My mind snapped to the feeling of the nerves coming to life up my legs and over my hips. The sensation was creeping over my shoulders and now I had more worries. I had to make sure that the muscles in my torso were good before I could move, otherwise I wouldn't really be able to defend myself. At the rate the agent was wearing off, it might affect my face before I was ready to go, and I wasn't sure if I could control my face.

I had to.

I felt triumphant when my diaphragm jerked and reengaged. I had to force myself to still let the respirator--or was it a ventilator? what was the difference? -- continue to breathe for me. The Joker didn't notice anything, his focus elsewhere. The muscles in my back responded shortly before my pecs, but the instant my pecs moved, I swung my arms up and clapped my hands over his ears. That hurts and he shied back, giving me time to rip out the breathing tube. It hurt a lot more coming out. Movement hurt, but I ignored that and used my legs to kick him off the bed before he could recover from the shock.

After that, I took my revenge. I didn't go completely nuts--one psycho in a room was too many, let alone two--but I was brutal. The first time he tried to get up I used my favorite hand strike to the nose and really tried to see if you could kill somebody by pushing the nose cartilage into the brain. Sadly, it didn't work.

Maybe I did go a little crazy. I kind of came down when I realized that it also isn't nearly as easy as you'd think to twist a guy's dick off. The Joker was unconscious, so I sat back and got a grip. I picked up his phone and dialed 911.

I succeeded in doing what was almost impossible: startling an emergency operator. I had to repeat myself, and it wasn't until I asked her to contact Detective MacIver and/or Officer Roberts at their division that she sounded like she might believe me. I didn't know where I was so they had to use the signal from the phone to locate me, which took extra time. I didn't go exploring, not knowing if anybody else was in the house or if it was booby trapped. All I did while I waited was turn the Joker's shirt inside out and put it on. I didn't want to be naked when whoever showed up.

FINALLY I heard the basement door open and footsteps on the stairs. I'd had to restrain myself a couple more times to keep from kicking or beating the Joker some more. The drawback to Systema, as I saw it, was that it was too effective. I didn't really have time to purge my hate on him before he was down and out. Two officers crept down the stairs with their guns out. I looked up at them.

"Holy shit," one said as his eyes took in the scenario. His partner also surveyed the room and he called for an ambulance. Then I heard more people above and a couple detectives clattered down. One was a woman, thank god. They took in the scenario swiftly, and the woman came over to me to ask what happened. I explained what happened flatly and quickly. The ambulance crew came down, gingerly transferred the Joker to the gurney, and two older, more experienced-looking cops accompanied the Joker since the EMTs wouldn't allow him to be handcuffed to the gurney. I might have broken his wrist.

Once the detective had the story straight, she nodded and asked if I wanted to go to the hospital to be checked out. I definitely wanted to be checked out and a rape kit done. I was going to see him put away, and that meant evidence. I asked to be taken to New York--Presbyterian since my rape counselor was there, and in short order I was being driven there, siren blaring. I didn't like that, but it got us there faster. In the emergency room, they called the counselor on duty to be with me while a female doctor did the exam. She photographed my skin, took off the collar and put it into an evidence bag, drew blood for analysis, checked my throat and found some bruising from the breathing tube, picked some fibers out of my hair, collected evidence from my skin. Then I had to lay back for the internal exam. The doctor detailed what she found as she conducted the examination. Oddly, I wasn't freaking out or upset. The counselor thought that beating him up might have been cathartic, but that I would probably have to deal with it later. She set me up an appointment with my regular counselor for the next day. The exam concluded, the doctor gave me some light sweat pants and a t shirt in exchange for the Joker's shirt. It was an easy trade to make. Then the police officer took me home. It still wasn't even seven in the morning yet.

There were officers there too; apparently the Joker picked the locks and had some kind of advanced bypass gizmo for the alarm system. I was allowed to sit in the living room as crime scene techs swarmed my bedroom. I retrieved a pad of paper from Sam's desk and started to write my statement. Detective MacIver arrived at this point, surveyed the situation, talked to one of the techs, and came over to me where I was just finishing. He studied me a moment before drawing up an ottoman and pulling out a small recorder, which he activated. I looked up at him as he started the questioning. My voice was still rough; the ER doctor said that my vocal chords had been bruised a little by the inexpert insertion and removal of the breathing tube.

MacIver asked what happened and I took him through it, though I stayed strong and didn't give into my immediate reaction, which was to burst into tears and hide somewhere. At one point he verified with a tech that the camera had been left and that there wasn't much else in the room beyond the two syringes. I took off my watch with a snort, tossing it onto the coffee table. After all the research and all, my tracker hadn't done a bit of good. "What's that?" MacIver asked, pointing to the watch back, so I had to explain. He asked me why I'd decided on a tracer. I sighed. I'd gotten a message from him when I'd been in class, a few days after the first incident. He'd reported that they'd found the rest of my pantyhose in the cell and my shoes out on the sand. And he said not to worry because it looked like the Joker had skipped town. I'd called him back with my concerns and he'd been dismissive of them too, saying that unless the Joker was in his jurisdiction there wasn't a lot he could do.

"Because nobody took me seriously when I thought there would be payback. You might recall that; I called you about it."

"We had informants who said the Joker had bugged out," he muttered.

"Obviously he came back when the heat died down," I said bitingly. "So I thought that a tracker on the back of my watch, which I only take off in the shower, would at least enable somebody to find me if I was kidnapped, send for help." I laughed shortly. "Turns out I still had to rescue myself." Then he asked what had happened after I was taken away. I refused to answer because neither of the new crime scenes was in his jurisdiction; I'd really only asked for him in the first place to convince the emergency dispatcher that I was legitimate. Yeah, I was discovering new and deep abilities to carry a grudge. He sighed and got to his feet, handing me another card before he left in case I wanted to talk.

Then the detective who was overseeing this operation came up. I explained the background briefly and was more forthcoming--slightly--about what had happened. I'd done my statement in two parts: one for what happened here, one for what happened in the house. I handed him part one, and he read it quickly and had me sign and date it. Then before he left, I used my printer and made a couple of copies, one for me, one in case the other bunch of cops needed it. He collected all the techs, assured me that the alarm system still worked, and they left. I stared at the collection of cards in my hand and shook my head. I went into my room, which was all dusty from the fingerprint powder, and picked up my phone. I left a message for Dr Reynaud, saying that I'd been in an accident and wouldn't be in today, then plodded to the shower where I was quick but very, very thorough, and at last fell on the stripped bed and closed my eyes. Everything else could wait awhile.

I slept like a baby.


	34. Peace

I woke up around four in the afternoon and took a moment to revel in the quiet and the sunshine that came through the curtains. Then I groaned as I thought about all I needed to accomplish. I needed to clean the fingerprint dust up from the entryway and in my room. I needed to get a new mattress pad, sheets, and a blanket to replace the ones that the police had taken for evidence. I needed to make appointments with my doctor; I'd gone to Planned Parenthood for my birth control and knew they could take care of this too. In two weeks I needed another pregnancy test (they'd test the blood I'd given at the hospital for the first test), in six weeks I needed to be tested for STIs. In ninety days, HIV. Then at six months, HIV, syphilis, and hepatitis. They'd already given me what the doctor described as routine empiric prophylaxis for chlamydia, gonorrhea, trichomoniasis, and bacterial vaginosis. Because who knew with the Joker, I was also given a hepatitis B vaccination that had to be repeated at one and six months.

I'd probably have to quit my job and go home to Pennsylvania for the summer. I couldn't stay here with Sam and Mindy; I couldn't forget that the Joker had said that if they'd been home he would have had to do something about them, and I wouldn't risk being a threat to them. And there was no way I could afford an apartment by myself in New York City on an intern's pay; even hovels were out of reach. The Joker was out of commission, but what if he asked somebody, a criminal confederate, to take care of me?

But I didn't want to go home, I wanted to stay here for the last few months before college, with my friends, doing things, working. My parents would be clingy, it would be horrible for everybody. My situation seemed suddenly very complex, and without analyzing anything too much, I grabbed my phone. No messages or alerts. I smiled sourly. Then I called Emma.

She was at the tower and told me to come over. No questions.

There was a guard I didn't know rather than Barney, which was kind of a relief. He called up for Emma, who came to get me and took me up to her office, locking the door behind us. I was grateful, remembering how people just come and go around here, sitting tensely on the sofa. "I'm surprised to see you," she commented. "I thought you'd be at work. But you don't look ok. Do you need to see a doctor?"

I kind of half-laughed. "I have seen a doctor," I said. The euphoria I'd felt earlier from beating the shit out of the Joker had faded. "Last night, the Joker broke into the house, shot me up with some kind of toxin, kidnapped me and raped me. Then I kicked his ass."

Her eyes flipped open and her mouth moved, but no sound came out. Then, finally, "What?" A moment more, and she said, "Are you comfortable telling me more?"

"I was asleep,' I said slowly. "Something woke me up, I'm not sure what, but it might have been the needle in my neck. He injected me with some stuff that was based on curare, he said. It paralyzed me. I was all limp, I couldn't move anything. There was a cure for it, an antagonist, that he injected around my eyes so I could look around and cry. He wanted to see my reactions. He took me to this house outside the city. He cut off my clothes and terrorized me and put me on a ventilator because my diaphragm stopped working," I said dully. "He said he was going to break me and keep me as a sex toy. Then he raped me. But the drug wore off faster than he expected and I was able to kick him off me. And I beat him to a pulp. And I don't regret it, but now I'm not feeling very good. And he said that if Sam and Mindy had been there--they're visiting their son--he'd have taken care of them. I can't stay there, I can't risk them because of some psycho. And the best part of all is that it was mostly recorded. He made a recording in my room why he was taking me and there were cameras set up in the basement of the house." Her mouth hung open. "I know I'm supposed to be an adult now, but I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do," I added forlornly when my eyes started to water.

We both jumped when the doorknob rattled and somebody began banging on the door. I had to work to keep myself in my seat, my fingernails digging into the upholstery. Emma got up and strode to the door, opening it but wedging it with her foot so it wouldn't open more than a crack. "Is somebody actually dying, Tony?" she asked crisply. I could hear his puzzled negation. "Then it will have to wait. I have something more important right now." And she shut and locked the door again. I have to admit to being impressed. And grateful.

"You say that you were seen by a doctor?" she said as she got us both glasses of water. I felt kind of thirsty, so I drank mine half-heartedly.

"At New York--Presbyterian," I confirmed. "They did a rape kit, gave me some drugs as a prophylactic for some of the STIs. I have a schedule when I'm supposed to get other tests done. Lots of visits, for six months."

She asked delicate questions about the whole ordeal and brought me a box of tissues, sitting by me supportively but not touching. I didn't want to be touched. Without being in the least bit pressuring, she got the whole story out of me, including my tracker and why I got it. I showed it to her. She shook her head. "Men don't always understand why women are afraid, they don't see it from our perspective because generally they're not at risk for sexual violence. But I honestly don't know why Bucky didn't take you more seriously. He knows you're not dramatic or attention seeking. It was so clever of you to use a tracker, though." She got up and returned with more water and a light but warm throw. I'd folded my legs and hugged them to my chest but I didn't realize I was trembling. "Now, you can refuse, of course, but would you like me to get a nurse up here? I think you might be dehydrated. You probably haven't had much to drink and you've had a horrible ordeal. Do you have any other symptoms that have popped up?" As soon as she said that, the light nausea I'd felt since I woke up became acute and I bolted for her trash can.

"S-sorry," I said, hunching over it. She stroked my hair back and held it until the subsequent dry heaves stopped.

"Not to worry," she said calmly, and I agreed to have a nurse come up. She was very calm and competent, quickly and efficiently testing me for dehydration and putting in an IV. She thought the nausea might be a result of the dehydration or possibly a little reaction to the antibiotics I was given at the hospital. She put almost two bags into me, then left. I was feeling better after that and sipped more water. Her computer chimed, and she swore at the reminder of a meeting she was supposed to be at.

"You go," I said. "But if I could stay here...?"

"Of course," she said. "I can ask Natalia to sit with you if you'd like," she offered, and I nodded. She called Natasha without giving a lot of specifics, and it was a couple minutes before there was a knock on the door and Emma let her in, locking the door again behind her as she left.

Natasha sat down, and there was a peaceful silence for awhile before we started talking. I told her what had happened; I couldn't put a finger on why I thought so, but I felt somehow that she would understand. And she said that she did, without sharing her own story. That was fine by me, I had enough to deal with without confronting someone else's trauma. But it was easier a little this time to talk about it, and my counselor at the rape center had explained back in January that repetition helped people to deal with it.

"So what did you do to the Joker?" she asked at the end. She'd mostly listened; there'd been minimal questions on her side.

"First I clapped my hands over his ears," she nodded, "then I kicked him off the bed. Then I tried to shove his nose through his brain. There was an elbow strike to the ribs, I grabbed his arm when he reached for me and messed up his wrist. I kinda used him for a punching bag, I used heel strikes because I didn't want to hurt my hand and I can get a lot of force behind the heel of my hand." She nodded some more. "Basically, I pulped him. I might have broken his leg. When I realized that I probably wasn't going to be able to twist off his dick or nuts, I stopped. That's when I called the cops."

"I'm not going to say that you overreacted," she said. "He's lucky you didn't kill him. I'd say maybe you should have, but that's a lot to have to carry around with you for the rest of your life." I scooted over a little and she patted the sofa cushion beside her. I eased over and my head dropped to her shoulder. "That toxin, though, worries me." We talked about it; I described how fast it worked, its duration, how it felt both acting and wearing off. It helped to look at it objectively, as a problem to be solved, rather than something tied in with my degradation. She didn't know any of the cops where I'd been found, but she knew a couple of them from the precinct where Sam and Mindy's house was. She called one to see if there was a possibility of getting a sample for study; it was a decision that would have to come from higher up, but the cop said she'd make the request.

At this point, Detective MacIver called. Based on his previous involvement in the Joker investigation from New Years, he'd weaseled into the other investigations. He was the second in command of a hastily organized task force. "I wanted to apologize for not taking you seriously in January," he said forthrightly. "It was a mistake. I wasn't there and I didn't see what you did." He sighed. "There were recordings of that too, it turns out. We finally got to see them today after the task force was formed. Apparently the Joker likes to record his interrogations and other activities. I saw the one of the Wayne kid's beating. He did say your name. The Joker said you were up next, and the kid said 'not Alex,' at which point he lost consciousness. Then I saw yours." He was silent. "If anything, Ms Barnes, you under-described the Joker's state of mind. After seeing his interaction with you and his... employees in that cave, I understand why you were concerned, and you were right to be worried. I shouldn't have been dismissive." After that, of course, I had to accept his apology. I also took advantage of his contrite state of mind to ask for a sample of the toxin for analysis here, since Ivy, probably Poison Ivy, could and probably would make more. He said that it was possible although the sample would not be large, and that he'd have it sent over the next day. I had one more request.

"That recording in the basement," I said slowly. "How many people have to see it?"

"Access is strictly limited. I have seen it, as has one of the officers who responded to your call. One of the DAs will have to view it as part of the case against the Joker. However, access is strictly controlled, and either I or the head of the task force, Captain Tabitha Graves, has to authorize anyone else who wants to see it. It won't be passed around or leaked. We will do our best to preserve your privacy."

"Thank you," I said. Then I sighed. "I guess you want my full statement then." He laughed a little.

"I can come by tomorrow," he said. "Thanks to the recordings, we have a pretty clear picture of what happened."

Natasha brightened when I told her that the lab would be getting a sample tomorrow. "What's going through your head right now?" she asked.

"I guess I can't be mad at Damian for telling him my name," I said grudgingly. "He probably doesn't even remember saying it." She smiled a little.

"You're going to be ok, Alex," she said softly. "What do you want to do now?"

"I"m going to have to stay awhile to deal with the police, but when Sam and Mindy get home, I'm going to have to leave."

"Do you want to go back to Pennsylvania?" she asked, and I shrugged.

"Not particularly," I admitted. "But housing is too expensive. I have the money that Uncle Bucky gave me for college, it could pay for housing for a couple of months, but that's not what it's for. I'd be broke by the time I went to college." She nodded and we sat in peaceful silence again until there was the sound of a key in the lock. I smiled. Natasha looked a question at me.

"It cracks me up that you all still use mechanical metal keys here." She smiled too.

Emma came in and smiled at me. "You look better."

"I feel better. Thank you for your help. I should get going now."

"Why?" Natasha wanted to know.

"I need to go to the store to get new bedding. The police stripped my bed. There's another change of sheets, but I need a new mattress pad, a light blanket, a spare set of sheets. A pillow. I have to clean up from the police, too."

"Let me drive you," Emma offered immediately. "You've had a rough day." I smiled a little at the understatement.

"Go ahead and shop," Natasha agreed. "It's always relaxing to do some retail therapy. But you should consider moving into the tower for the summer." I opened my mouth in automatic rejection, but Emma jumped on board.

"You could live in the guest quarters," she said. "You'd actually be the only one there, you'd have your privacy. And you'd get to stay in New York until it's time to go home before starting school."

"But the tower doesn't belong to you," I pointed out.

"Tony owes you," Natasha said flatly. "You don't even have to tell him why. We can be with you when you ask."

"There are a lot of advantages to staying here beyond the safety considerations," Emma pointed out. "You could work out with Bucky here again, not that I wouldn't love to see you kick some Asgardian ass. I would have loved to see you put Volstagg down." She and Natasha exchanged glances of perfect agreement. "Your friend Aslyn still works here, doesn't she?"

I wavered. And nodded. Emma opened the door and bellowed "Tony!" We waited a moment and he popped in, curiously.

"Have you seen the news?" he asked Emma. "It's blown up. The Joker is in custody. He's in a coma in the hospital. Somebody unleashed hell on him."

I should have expected that. The capture of the Joker would be big news. "Actually, that's why I'm here," I said, my fingers twisting nervously. "I need to ask a favor." He looked at me curiously, then his quickness was a blessing.

"Where did you run into the Joker?" he asked, then, his eyes going to the two women with me, lifted his hand. "Never mind, I don't need to know. What do you need?"

"I need to move out of my host family's house now," I said quietly, and to my anger and horror, some tears leaked out of my eyes. I clamped my teeth down on my lip to keep it from trembling, but I couldn't help it. I felt all the peace I'd manage to achieve break apart.

Mr Stark's eyes widened. "Move her in. Do whatever you have to," he told Emma. If he said anything else, I didn't hear it. I pulled up my legs and sobbed into my knees. Natasha put her arm around my shoulders, and Emma came over and did the same thing. I don't know how long I cried. I think it was the first time since I was free that I really faced what had happened to me, what I'd done. I could talk about it, but for some reason having to ask for a favor broke me.

When the storm started to lighten, twilight was falling and I was past exhausted. Even my bare bed was looking good. Emma handed me the tissue box and I went to work mopping up all the snot and tears. So much for rehydration. Natasha wiggled her fingers at me. "Give me your keys and the code," she said, and too tired to argue, I forked over both. She hopped up and stalked out of the room. Emma stood and extended her hand.

"Ok, let's get you settled. You need to sleep," she said, and I took her hand and let her haul me to my feet. She called the elevator and we took it up two flights, which normally I would be embarrassed to do, but I just couldn't face the stairs right now. The guest floor had rooms around the perimeter and an open space with couches, chairs, and an entertainment center in the center. She opened the door to a corner room and gently steered me to the bed, turning down the covers. I sat automatically, and she took off my shoes. She stroked my hair and told me to get some rest. I lay down obediently, and fell asleep as she pulled up the sheet.


	35. Adjustment

I woke up the next morning when my alarm buzzed, but for a heart-stopping moment I couldn't remember where I was or why I wasn't in my room at Sam and Mindy's. A cold sweat broke out before I noticed the sunlight filtering through the windows. There hadn't been sunlight in the basement. Then I found I could move, and I remembered what had happened yesterday.

I looked around the room. I must have slept like the dead, because I hadn't been disturbed by anybody coming in, but my clothes were hanging in the closet and there were banker's boxes holding the stuff from my bureau drawers, desk, and shelves. Obviously, somebody had plugged in my alarm clock, and there was a pitcher of water and a glass on the bedside table. It was lukewarm, but I was thirsty.

I got up and showered. The doctor at the rape exam told me that while I might really want to get all traces of the Joker off me, douching could do more harm than the psychological benefit would provide, so I complied although I really wanted to be sure I was clean. I compensated psychologically with hot showers and a lot of soap on my skin. I was still sore in my pelvis.

Once I got out of the shower, I called Mindy; the police were going to let them know that their house was broken into and I wanted to let them know that I was ok, that I was sorry for the trouble, and that I'd moved out. They tried to convince me that I didn't have to go, but their safety was a huge concern for me. Finally, we agreed to get together when they came back from vacation, and it was time to get moving. I had my session with the rape counselor. As I went up to the hospital, I called Dr Reynaud to let him know that I'd be late, and he expressed concern but didn't pry, and told me to take as much time off as I needed and not to rush back to work.

The session was the roughest one yet and for once I didn't feel appreciably better when I left. My counselor told me that was to be expected and we made an appointment for the day after next. I stopped by Mindy and Sam's, cleaned up the fingerprint powder and put everything back in order. After double-checking my room and finding a couple of things, I took the key off my key ring and put it on the dining room table. Then in the privacy of the empty house, I called my mom. I would have preferred to keep it to myself, but it just wasn't possible with the change of address. Mom couldn't speak at first, then wanted me to come home. I told her that I needed to stay here; I'd realized that although I could get into a routine anywhere, I might not be able to get the help I needed at home. That made mom really think, and ultimately she agreed with me. It was easier because she knew what the security on the tower was like. She asked if I was the reason that the Joker was in a coma, and was savagely pleased about that when I said yes. I also promised to go to a doctor and make sure that the toxin wasn't going to have any lasting effects, which I was ok agreeing to do. She then said I didn't have to call all the time, but that she'd appreciate some updates.

That had been a hard conversation to have. I took some time to recover, then went back to the tower. I met Aslyn on the way in; she was taking a half-day for the hell of it and because they had a lull in her area at work. So we got lunch and afterward, I told her what had happened. She was kind of freaked out but really supportive and understood why I'd kept the first incident to myself. She didn't ask for details I didn't want to provide but said that any time I wanted to talk she was available. We went to the library to get some light summer reading and my favorite librarian, Ms Gordon, was happy to recommend some new authors for us. I didn't know whether she seemed extra peppy today or if it was because I was emotionally squashed. I felt bad though, asking her if she knew where I could find some self-help books off the top of her head, because she deflated a bit and didn't ask, but gave me the catalog numbers for a variety of teenage problems like anorexia and self harm. I shook my head and quietly asked for sexual assault. Aslyn gripped my hand and after a shocked moment, Ms Gordon told me where to find them. There wasn't much but there were some ones that Aslyn, checking Amazon, told me were highly rated. I chose two, putting them under my cozy mysteries. While we were checking out, Ms Gordon came over with library-branded totes for each of us and waved off our offers to pay.

Aslyn walked me back to the tower; I was wilting a bit and it was nice to have the company. She gave me a fierce hug and said she'd call after dinner. Inside, I went over to the desk, where Barney was stationed. I was glad to see him, and I mentioned that I had moved into the tower for the summer. He nodded, congratulating me on getting into MIT. Apparently both my uncle and Mr Stark had mentioned it. "Mr or Mrs Barnes wanted to know when you got here," he said, picking up the phone. It wasn't a minute before Bucky burst through the stairwell door and hugged me tight. I patted him gingerly with the hand that wasn't holding the book bag. Honestly, I was kind of wary of anybody with a penis, although I knew my uncle was completely safe. Then Emma stepped out of the elevator. She joined the group hug, then suggested we go upstairs.

Safely inside my uncle's office, which he rarely used but was sensationally cozy, Emma gave me a pass card and told me that the tower AI knew I was living here. The card was for the times when the program was being maintained. "Where did you go this morning, sweetie?" Bucky asked me. "I came to see if you'd like to get some breakfast and you were already gone." He tried to be casual and undemanding, but his worry was clear.

"I had an appointment with the rape counselor," I said. "I'm going to have three a week for awhile." His face went white and I realized that I hadn't told him I'd still been seeing one since January.

"I only told him that you'd been kidnapped and poisoned," Emma told me quietly, and my respect for her got a big bounce.

"I was going to stop, I came to terms with New Years," I said, and rubbed my face. "But the rape kit was done at the hospital, so there's easy access to my medical records and test results." I didn't know what else to say. "I'm not pregnant, so there's some good news," I told Emma, who nodded grimly. Bucky looked like he was going to pass out. My IUD was still in place and the first pregnancy test revealed that I hadn't been pregnant at the time of the rape. I wasn't ovulating, the Joker hadn't ejaculated in me, and that, coupled with the reassurance of the IUD left me not worried about being knocked up although it would be confirmed in a doctor's visit in a couple of weeks. Then I didn't know what else to say. I wasn't going to go into detail with anybody except the lawyers when it came to prosecute the Joker's sorry ass.

"Then where did you go?" Bucky asked.

"Sam and Mindy's; I wanted to clean up, make sure all my stuff was collected. I found a couple things. Somebody replaced the sheets and things," I mentioned to my aunt, and she nodded.

"Natalia," she said.

"Then I ran into Aslyn, we went to lunch and the library."

"You should let somebody know where you're going," Bucky said.

I shook my head. He opened his mouth to protest. "Getting into a routine is the best thing I can do," I said factually. "The Joker's in the hospital and nobody's after me, so no, I'm just going to live my life. If I get in the habit of checking in, it'll reinforce the trauma, put me in a childlike state. It wouldn't be helpful at all. I'm going to get into a routine and I'm going to be responsible for myself, and I'm going to work hard at my therapy so I can go to college and get all that I can out of that experience."

Bucky seemed to be struggling, but I let him. He had his issues and I had mine and I couldn't fix his any more than he could fix mine.

After a moment, he nodded, and said, "I can't apologize enough for not taking your fears and concerns more seriously earlier. I don 't know if it would have affected what just happened, but you wouldn't have had to feel as isolated as I think you must have felt." I nodded, accepting the apology.

Then Emma said she'd made brownies, and went to get them. "She baked up a storm," Bucky said. "The freezer is stuffed with cookies. We're set for a month." I smiled. Baking as therapy, who knew? Emma returned with the promised brownies, dusted with powdered sugar, and Mr Stark. I grabbed the biggest brownie first, and he rolled his eyes and grinned. He took a bite and sighed in satisfaction, then flipped me something. I caught it by reflex.

It was a brushed silver watch. The dial looked like it was a colorful shell like abalone, bordered by black enamel in kind of an art deco design. It had a soft black leather band. "It's waterproof to 100 m, runs on kinetic energy rather than a battery, has a compass, just like yours. The hands adjust automatically for daylight savings time or when you cross a time zone. So the little button on the side isn't for setting the hands, it's a panic button. If you pull it out, it will trigger a phone call to a preset number and won't stop calling until somebody answers. It has GPS built in and will continually update your position to the contact you specify." I stammered out thanks and took off my watch, trading it for my new one. They were both men's watches, but I liked bigger watches anyway. Easier to see the time. "It's something I've had in development," Mr Stark said. "It works, but you'll be the first to have the tech. Hopefully, you won't need to use it." I nodded, and he picked up my other watch, flipping it and looking at the tracker glued onto the back. "It's a good solution to your problem, especially since you probably don't know much about watchmaking or tracking technology. But this will get you help a lot earlier. Right now it's set to my phone for testing. Give it a shot." I pulled out the button and his phone immediately lit up. We all watched as it kept ringing until he finally picked up. On speaker, a recorded announcement that Alex Barnes needed help at these coordinates played. It shut off when I pressed the button back in.

"That's pretty amazing," I said, and he preened like a peacock. He handed over a small booklet that told me how to add numbers, and Bucky looked relieved as I put in his and Emma's. She reached over and patted my hand.

"Better?" I asked my uncle, and he smiled.

"Much better."

Mr Stark shoved the rest of the brownie into his mouth and sauntered out the door. Then he poked his head back in. "You have access to the clinic, including the tissue accelerator, and the tower cafeteria," he instructed me, then left before I could thank him. So irritating. His visit and the new watch had lightened up the atmosphere a lot, and after some conversation, I went down to the clinic.

I explained the broad outline of my issue to the nurse practitioner I saw, asked to use the accelerator, and she nodded. "You're our first customer for the accelerator; we got a brand-spankin' new one that will be ideal for your injuries," she said, her tone encouraging but not irritatingly cheery. "Wayne Enterprises--Medical sent it over just today, as a matter of fact. I didn't even know they had a new model, let alone that we'd ordered one. It's got all the bells and whistles; you can lay on it like a tanning bed and get everything treated at once or use the detachable screen for a small area. It also has wands, covered by a protective, disposable sleeve, that can be used to heal injuries to the mouth, vagina, or anus--there's different sizes and shapes for each application," she said gently. "If your vagina still has damage, we can fix that up if you'd like. If you'd prefer not to have something inside you, you certainly don't have to use it." I wanted to heal as fast as possible, so I opted to try the wand although I wasn't thrilled about it. There was a brief physical exam for their records, a blood draw to make sure the toxin was out of my system and not causing damage, and to verify my injuries, then I was taken to the accelerator room and set up. I walked out feeling better, with much faded bruises and bite marks, and because they knew I usually needed two treatments for the full effect, told to come back the next day if I needed another treatment.

I went up to my new room and stopped, looking around the common area. The guest rooms didn't actually go all the way around as I'd thought last night; they lined the two longest walls, with open windows on the small curved side and the u-shape on the opposite wall. The windows themselves had some nanotech business that automatically made the windows more opaque when the sun was bright or could be controlled with a pad of buttons in each room. You could go from crystal clear to blackout; the effect actually was controlled by two functions. The first was a sun screen, a layer facing out that blocked light from entering. The second was a privacy screen that could be engaged separately, that provided a light barrier facing the room so that light didn't pass through the glass. It was a really nice feature and made it so that curtains or blinds weren't needed. Just as well; I liked being able to look around with a glance and know that there were limited places for a person to hide. I knew that sounded paranoid, but I wasn't going to apologize for it; it was the way I felt and that was that. I tested out a couple of the chairs and sofas; as expected they were very comfortable. I went in my room and unpacked, shuttling things to the bathroom, arranging my closet better, putting my books on the shelves above the workspace, setting up my computer and printer. The WiFi signal strength was excellent. I didn't have much down here, so it didn't take long to get everything put away. I unfolded the boxes and stored them in the closet; I could reuse them when it was time to go home and then to college.

Then I had to make another hard call. I waited for Hector to pick up, then after some pleasantries, told him that it turned out that I wasn't ready for a sexual relationship after all. He was disappointed, but he was a champ; he rallied fast, said he understood, that he was sorry and hoped that nothing he'd done had set me back. I was able to honestly reassure him that he hadn't done anything, and we talked for awhile before making a date to go to the Met. I still hadn't seen all of it, and he really liked to wander around in it, especially the Egyptian gallery.

I won't lie, I was relieved that the call had gone so well. I didn't actually expect him to have thrown a fit or anything, it was just... I don't know. Whatever I'd been fearing hadn't happened. I took one of my rape recovery books out into the common area since I was the only one on the floor. The view was spectacular, and it helped to have such an interesting diversion when I needed to take a break from the book.

Around six, Emma and Bucky showed up and invited me to dinner in the cafeteria. I got up to put my book away. Bucky saw the title and offered to buy whatever books I wanted instead of having to check them out from the public library. "Thank you, but no," I said. "I plan to deal with this. I don't need to buy the books and keep it around." He smiled and kissed my hair, then I put my book on the workspace and washed my hands. It was then I realized I'd been running around without makeup all day. Yikes. I looked pale and washed out. Well, there wasn't any point in putting it on now. I returned to the common room and we went down to the cafeteria.

The cafeteria here was the polar opposite of a school cafeteria in terms of quality. It was a fun mix of buffet for the dinner part, and a cool take on an Automat (if you had a Way Back machine) for desserts and breads. It was open 24-hours a day (with a restricted menu between 10 pm and 6 am) and had nice tables and chairs; cloth napkins were used to reduce landfill waste, and there were bins for recycling and composting. The composting stuff was taken out of the city to an operation that actually made and sold the compost. It was pretty cool, and the food was delicious. We lingered a little over dessert, then they went home after collecting a promise to call if I needed anything and I went back upstairs.

I turned on the news with a certain amount of trepidation, but activity coming out of Washington had already pushed the Joker off the front page of the newspapers, to my relief. The antics of the President were a welcome diversion. I watched a couple of new summer series, then clicked off the TV at around nine. I was tired again and went to bed early. Before getting into bed, though, I searched my room, including behind the shower curtain, in the closet, and under the bed. I tossed and turned for a bit, then went into the common room and retrieved a folding chair from a discreet stack of them in an alcove. I took it into my room, did a second check, then wedged the chair under the doorknob. Then it was easy to fall asleep.

The next day I got up and went to work. Dr Reynaud was both pleased to see me and concerned that I was back too soon. "It wasn't an accident, like a car crash," I said quietly. "It was a...personal attack. I just want to get back to normal. But I do need to see a professional person three times a week for awhile. I'll try to schedule them before or after work so that they don't interfere."

"We'll work around what you need," was his peaceable response. "Your appointments are important, and everything is under control here."

So I went back to proofreading a paper for Nature with a lighter heart. I was glad to be back and working on something that had nothing to do with me, something routine that required concentration. I went out for lunch and enjoyed the sunshine (ignoring the traffic noise). At quitting time, I wrapped up, clocked out, and with satisfaction headed for the lobby. I stopped dead when I saw Damian, then skirted the edge of a group disgorged from the elevators to avoid him. I didn't know whether to expect him to start noticing me again, but he had to know about the Joker's capture and I'm sure his father would have told him more about it. I didn't want to deal with him now; I'd achieved a good mood, had a productive day, and I felt that one more accelerator treatment would have me all fixed up. I didn't know if Damian was actually looking for me, but I got out undetected and went to my new home, good mood pretty much intact. I hit the clinic first, then the cafeteria, then up to my room to change into shorts and a t-shirt. I had just curled up on a couch in the silent common room when Sigurd and Torburn padded in. Their tails started to wave furiously and they barked, coming over to be petted. After suitable attention, they nudged me up and to the elevator, where it was no problem for Sigurd to press the top button with his nose. The top button led to a rooftop deck, deserted at present. It was literally breathtaking up there; there were railings all the way around, but I didn't get too close to the edge. There were pots of flowers that looked like Emma and Bucky's touch, as well as some comfortable chairs, lounges, and tables. There was also a water feature next to an elaborate barbecue setup, and beneath the fountain was a tap and a sizeable trough that provided water for the dogs. I sat down, scratching ears and talking to the pups about general stuff, enjoying the open space and relaxing, for about half an hour. Then I got a little bored when the dogs wandered off to nap on the loungers, so I told them goodbye and headed for the elevator. The door opened and Mr Stark stepped out. He was dressed more casually than usual and and a file full of papers in his hand. He nodded at me. "Nice, isn't it? Gets too hot later in the summer. Come up whenever you want, though." He passed by, and I headed into the elevator. I saw him kick back in a chair just as the doors closed. I went downstairs to tackle my self-help books.


	36. Summertime

I was grateful for my routine. Work felt very stabilizing and reliable, and it was easy to work late on the days I came in late because of therapy. Dr Reynaud was his usual kind self, which made work a refuge. Normally.

A couple weeks after the incident, I was getting ready to go to lunch when my extension rang. I was really surprised; in the time I'd been working at Wayne Enterprises, I'd never received a call. It was Mr Wayne's personal assistant, and she informed me that he would like me to come up to the office. It immediately pissed me off, but I went.

The PA showed me right in, and Mr Wayne stood as I entered his office. "Alex," he said, and gestured to the chairs in front of the desk. I sat, and the door closed behind me. Mr Wayne looked awkward, so I seized the opportunity to get the upper hand.

"I wasn't aware that there was any problem with my work," I said crisply. "Dr Reynaud talks to me if he has any questions or concerns."

"It's not that," he said, clearing his throat. "I wanted to apologize for what happened with the Joker." My new buddy rage boiled up, and I cut him off before he could say anything more.

"First of all, this conversation is inappropriate in the workplace," I said icily, eyes shooting daggers. "However, I have some comments that I would like to make, and after that I have nothing else to say. First, the Joker is to blame for his own actions. You are not responsible for him. Regardless of what you may feel, he is not your personal liability. Second, you should be sorry for dismissing my concerns. I was there, I saw what I saw, you did not. But you probably thought I was overreacting, or you just didn't want to hear about it. You should have listened. If I'd been with anybody else at the party, I think the Joker would have dismissed me. He knew right away that I wasn't in his target class. He was only initially interested in me because of Damian. That put me on his radar, and that led directly to the latest events. Whatever the reason, those actions were your choice, and after that I felt abandoned. I had no allies. So having few options, I did the best I could using a store-bought tracker and a smartphone app. However, I was able to free myself before anybody realized I was missing, so it didn't do much good." He flinched a lot as I spoke.

"Detective MacIver--"

"Has no business discussing what happened with you," I snapped hotly. "You were not even tangentially involved in the incident that led to the capture of the Joker. You have no right to any of that information."

"--has been uninformative," he said. "But the media reported that he had kidnapped a woman and was captured after being incapacitated. I put two and two together."

I couldn't help the tiny smirk. I was proud that I'd beaten the Joker up. Maybe it was not nice and indicated a laxity in my morality, but I was ok with that. The important thing to me was that I hadn't just let him carry out his plans. "I'll tell you this much," I said briskly. "Yes, the Joker kidnapped me. He used a paralyzing agent to do so, he said it was created by Ivy, whom I presume to be Poison Ivy. You know her, I believe. It wore off faster than he'd anticipated, and I was able to beat the liver out of him before calling the cops. I've been checked out and I'm going to be fine. The reason I was able to escape was because of two years of intensive personal defense training from my uncle. If I'd waited for any help to come, I'd probably be the Joker's sock puppet by now." My hand clenched the pendant the Asgardians had given me and I focused on calming down. In the space of two breaths, my heartbeat slowed, my breathing calmed, and my anger fled. I was so startled that I almost let go.

Mr Wayne flushed. "I can't make it up to you. I did what I could, after. I figured Barnes would take you to the tower clinic, so I sent over the newest accelerator model in case it could benefit you." I'd figured, after the nurse practitioner had talked. He looked down at his desk. "MacIver did show me the recording the Joker made of his...session with Damian in the cave. He said your first name--"

"I know," I interrupted. "The detective said that the Joker liked to record his activities and that Damian used my nickname right before he passed out. I don't blame him for that."

"What do you blame him for?" Mr Wayne asked curiously.

"For abandoning me after. He probably doesn't remember using my name after being tortured, so it's not fair to blame him for that. But I though we were friends. And friends just don't vanish, especially with the tired excuse that it's for my own good. And he didn't even have the guts to tell me himself. He had his daddy do it." My voice was vicious. I let the silence spool out.

"I don't know how to make it right," Mr Wayne said.

"You can't alter the past, you can't undo your actions. It's something that you're just going to have to live with," I said quietly, pressing the pendant again. "I think we're done here. I'm done, anyway." I got up and went to the door. The reception area was deserted and so was the corridor to the stairs. I walked down the flights of stairs, feeling better, a little.

After that, I started to see Damian more in common areas. I began to play a game with him, whatever the opposite of 'Tag' is. It amused me. But by the end of June, I was tired of playing around, we were in an early heat wave, which made me cross, although I was down to two sessions a week with the rape counselor I'd just had a particularly hard session that morning, and MacIver had called me with the news that the Joker had come out of his coma the week before. He said the Joker was raving in spurts when he wasn't silent and staring, and I just knew he was laying the ground for a return to Arkham rather than the prison where he should be wasting away. This time I let Damian catch up.

"Alex," he said awkwardly, then stopped. Seriously? He's been lurking for weeks, and this is the best he could do??

"What, Damian?" I asked impatiently after a little silence. "I've got plans." I was meeting Mindy and Sam for dinner. Since I'd moved out, we texted and emailed and talked and had dinner a few times. They still felt guilty, and I wasn't having any of that.

"I'm sorry fo--" he began.

I cut him off even though it was rude. "Yeah, yeah. I've heard all the apologies I care to listen to." I'd listened to my uncle fully, because I loved him. I hadn't listened to Mr Wayne, because I didn't care much about his opinion anymore. If he fired me for being snappish, fine. I could get a job in retail easily enough. Sure it would be boring and a pain, but it would still keep me busy and bring in some money. I didn't have to listen to Damian at all.

"Come on, Alex, I was wrong. I can't do anything about it now, but at least I can apologize," he protested. I snapped.

"Do you think I care about your feelings?" I hissed, getting into his personal space and shoving him to the side of the pavement, out of the pedestrian traffic. "Do you think your apology stacks up at all to waking up with the Joker in my bedroom, injecting me with a paralyzing toxin? He gave me two shots around each eye so that he could enjoy seeing me cry and panic. Later he put me on a breathing machine because I panicked too much and stopped breathing. All I had was the house security, which he easily defeated. Do you think your apology means anything compared to him cutting off my clothing, threatening me that he was going to turn me into his own living, breathing blow up doll? Do you think that means anything in comparison to the feel of his disgusting, deformed penis being forced inside my body, Damian?" I whispered harshly. "He's got some kind of skin problem, it's like he's molting all the time. They found skin flakes way up inside me when they did the rape exam. On top of that, I've had to have pregnancy tests and a series of of STI and HIV tests that will continue for six months. I also got a raging bladder infection from it. They gave me Cipro for that, which produced awful side effects. You're the first male person I've voluntarily stood within arms' distance since the rape. I keep a distance from even my uncle, who I know loves me and wouldn't dream of hurting me. I don't blame you for saying my name in front of him in the cave. I blame you for skittering off and abandoning me. And no, you couldn't have done anything about the Joker breaking in, but after your dad told me to stay away from you, you don't know how abandoned I felt, right when I needed a friend who understood. When I really needed somebody to believe me and help me figure out ways to protect myself. But I proved to myself that I don't need Gotham's protectors. I rescued myself. There's nothing you can do about any of it now. I'm getting counseling and I am fixing myself. So unless you have something constructive to say, Damian, keep. Your. Distance." I glared at him. He was shaking a little.

I spun on my heel and clasped my pendant. It took a little longer to concentrate when I was this worked up, but by the time I got to the end of the block, I was working with the pendant, forming a loop of calming down. I'd done an experiment in the medical center where they monitored me as I worked myself up and calmed down, both with and without the pendant. The trial with the pendant showed that it affected areas in my brain and the nerves that weren't under conscious control started to respond before my conscious efforts worked. So whatever magic the pendant had, it was real. It wasn't just pretty. Concentrating did allow me to affect change faster, and I wondered about that. I'd been wearing the pendant when I'd been kidnapped, and I had focused on getting my muscles moving pretty hard and over a long time. Maybe that had something to do with how fast the toxin had worn off, because the Joker seriously underestimated the time he had before he needed to readminister it.

I found that, over the next few days, letting out all the anger I had toward Damian had been really cathartic. I felt that everybody who had been involved in the nightmare knew where I stood. Maybe it was selfish, but I needed people to know. And until I'd confronted Damian, I didn't realize that I'd needed him, as the one person who'd been there in the crazy with me. After that, I felt like I was making better progress with my therapy.

About a week after I'd moved into the tower, I'd started working out with Bucky in the subbasement training room again. It was familiar and soothing, and soon Thor, Loki, and Sif started training there as well, and I was helping with other students too. It was very satisfying to see others progress, and I understood why my uncle liked teaching so much. Uncle Bucky also had me learn firearms, rifles and handguns, how to fire, clean, and maintain them. I liked that too, the precision, the mechanics of it all, but not nearly as much as hand to hand. A couple weeks after I'd moved in, I'd braved Mr Stark on the rooftop one evening to talk about rent. He'd flatly refused to take any money from me, saying that my residency was literally a drop in the bucket for the costs of running the tower. I'd been mulish, though, because I try not to be a freeloader.

"You're not taking advantage," he said finally, sitting up straight. "You're helping your uncle with the training. I heard the Maximoff kid complaining about how hard you were in training, so you're definitely providing a service." I couldn't help a small smile. Pietro complained about everything but the treadmill and the weight training. So I walked away with an acknowledgment that I was trading training for room and board, and I got to keep my pride and Mr Stark got rid of a gadfly.

June gave way to July, and by Bastille Day, I cut down my counseling sessions to one a week. The heat was especially bad, and I took to going in early, taking a long lunch with a nap in our filing room, and leaving later. Dr Reynaud did the same thing, only he napped in his private office. It was about this time that I started doing things with my friends after dark.

The second week in August, I packed up my stuff, had my last therapy session and got a referral in case I needed some help when I started school, and Dr Reynaud threw me a little farewell party with cupcakes and the gift of a beautiful leather portfolio. He also gave me some copies of our book; we got authors' copies for free. I had him autograph them, one especially for me. He told me to keep in touch and that if I wanted to return next summer that he would make that happen.

J drove down and packed up my stuff. I thanked Mr Stark, said goodbye to my students, and gave Emma, Bucky, Sigurd, and Torburn big hugs. Then I spent ten days at home, luxuriating in the warmth of my family and helping out now and then at the restaurant. It was a great transitional period, and i felt better for leaving the grossness of the summer behind me. J and I talked about how to prep for the college board tests--he'd had a straight A semester just like me-- and how to research careers and colleges. Then I hit the road to Boston with Mom and Dad. As a special treat, J got to stay by himself for a couple of days.

When we pulled up to Random Hall, I gazed at the imposing brick and stone building and smiled.

*********************

*Alex's adventures will continue in Legend.*


End file.
